AAR: Symphony of Calradia (C35!)

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Stormfall_03

Stormfall_03

Veteran
NOTE: Hey guys! It's me again. So this is the revival of an old AAR that I uh...abandoned a year ago due to unfortunate circumstances. School stuff, personal stuff and inconceivable amount of stress and emotional exhaustion had lead me to abandon this fun little personal project of mine. So...forgive me.

I have been replaying Mount & Blade recently and thus it "inspired" me to go back and look on the story itself. So I guess, "why not?" and head back to writing the story. I had to repost EVERY chapter that has been done before so you guys don't have to search the old thread up.

This is the story of a new Calradia. One that is different from the one we knew in the game.



The Symphony of Calradia​

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This is the story of warriors who ventured across the war torn land of Calradia. Where the lords and ladies of the land would give up their swords in service to their kings, their loyalties shift alongside their beliefs and reasons for fighting. Be it money, land or for the sake of conquest itself. This is a land of war, where the nobles, its people and even its kings would question their morality as alliances shift and crumble by each passing day.
Today's ally could be tomorrow's enemy.

To the north lies the cold lands of the Vaegirs and the Nords where they would fight for the vast fields of snow. To the east is where the steppe dwellers of the Khergits and the desert people of the Sarranids would find a place to rule and to fight over. To the west is where the mighty kingdoms of Swadia and Rhodoks as they are constantly on each other's throats, threatening on who would become the ruler of the lush green lands of Calradia.

But there is an unseen war, one that no one believes. To the farthest side of the deserts of Sarran, the Horde awaits, mustering an army so vast to it would swallow the kingdoms of Calradia whole, that the earth would quake at every step and would run the rivers dry. The forces of the Exiled shall come and reap the lands once more.​



We shall follow the story through the eyes of different characters. Each would let us explore different parts of Calradia, one of which would introduce us to the supernatural aspects of the land.

Book 1: The Beginning

Book 2: The Rebellion


Symphony of Time
These are lore chapters regarding my version of Calradia itself. These would flesh out certain characters, aspects or important locations through the writings of different Scholars.



Also, be on the look out for any references to a specific mod. Perhaps in time, I would implement some of my favorite mod worlds into the story like Pendor. Who knows right? :grin:.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The screenshots from the game will be used to illustrate specific scenes from the story. I won't be using the game itself explicitly to tell the story because I've used three protagonists for the whole journey of the book although it might change depending if they survive the harshness of the world of Calradia. Then again, enjoy! :grin:.

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Original picture from Dark Souls

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Original pic from Demon Souls
​




Been writing AND compiling a few mods together to make my experience a bit more interesting. Adding tonnes of new stuff in, replaced a few of the old scenes with new ones and currently trying to replace the soundtrack (still trying to find suitable mods. Or else, I'll have to compile them myself :neutral:)

List of the mods I've used
Narf's Men At Arms Armor Pack
Narf's Rus Armor Pack
Full Invasion Armor Pack
Native Scene Replacement Pack (I only replaced the town scenes with the new ones in the pack. The Sarranids are partially completed and Rhodoks haven't been done.)
Battle Size Changer (Used it to increase my Battle Size up to 500. Allows for more up to 1000)
Better Banners Mod (makes banners looked a lot better than its native counterpart, replaces all existing banners with the ones included)
Arena Overhaul Mod (replaces the old arena scenes from native to make the place a blast to fight in)
More Metal Sounds Mod (enhances gameplay experience by replacing the sounds with much more "metal")
Magus Mod (restructures the troop trees. Existing ones have been restructured entirely. Expect something new from this mod)
OSP Item Warband Variants (adds new items)

Other than that, here's are the few mods I've used to get the screenshots other than my modified game. Most of which are total conversion mods, so credits to their creators.
Freelancer - Which of course, gives you the opportunity to insttad become a soldier in a lord's army. This was used to get a screenshot of Luther in his early days as a mercenary serving for the Rhodoks.
Sands of Faith - A crusader themed mod. Same team who made Calradian Crusaders, I believe since most of the features remained the same.
Calradian Crusaders - Crusader themed mod for Native. Overhauls the troop trees, giving each faction a new look and there's also new scenes for castles as well.
Nova Aetas - A fantastic mod that revamps almost everything. Troop trees, the opportunity to colonize, religion, new factions, build your own castle, occupation and so much more.
Phantasy Calradia - Turns Calradia into a full blown fantasy world with magic and new races to play as. There's already one or two references to this mod in the story, try and see if you can find them.



I guess that's it. There might a few that I've forgotten, sorry about that.
​
 
Chapter 1: The Griffin​
Deckard Winters,
The city of Praven,
8th year of King Harlaus’ reign on the Swadians,​

The ships coming from all over the world docked at Praven for an annual tournament that decides the year’s strongest and most capable warrior. Commoners, mercenaries, knights, even the lords and ladies of the kingdom participated in this grand tournament to prove their worth, or perhaps to be known by the masses.

The lists had many notable participants such as Lord Grainwad, Rochabath, Devlin and the king of the Swadians himself, Harlaus the Brave. But among the many foreigners that took part, there is one that stood out from the rest – Deckard Winters who is the bastard son of an impoverished noble back in his homeland of Praevor. A squire for the first few years of his life, Deckard soon trained to be the best in swordsmanship and even enlisted in Praevor’s brotherhood of knights known as the Howling Griffins.

But the news of the murder of his father brought him to Calradia, to track down the one man who did this.

The tournament soon begins in a few hours and Deckard prepares himself for the upcoming round, with almost 64 other combatants. As the tourney finally begins, Deckard managed to win the first 4 tiers of increasing difficulty, confronting champion warriors, hired blades and various other skilled fighters.
However, in the 5th tier of the tournament he find himself fighting against the king himself and the undefeated champion of the annual Swadian tournament, Xerina. Deckard’s only teammate at the time was a hired blade.

Despite his absolutely skilled opponents, Deckard gripped tight his wooden sword in hand and eyes gazed deep into the king’s own. His heart pounds faster as the sound of the horns echoes throughout the auditorium.

After exchanging blow after blow with Harlaus, a hard swing at Deckard’s head knocked his helmet off. Without protection, he would surely be defeated. Deckard desperately swing his sword horizontally towards Harlaus but the king grabbed his arm, punching the foreigner in the head, knocking Deckard out cold.

The Praevorian woke up two hours later in the infirmary alongside many others who were defeated at the tournament. Although he was…defeated, the prize of being one of the finalists became his as 2,000 dinars were given to the knight in a pouch.

He went to the tavern soon after, checking and renting a room to stay for a few nights. Deckard threw his weapons and his belongings onto the bed. He then took out a ‘wanted’ poster he saw on the announcement boards in the Guild where the name of ‘Fedorian the Cunning’ displayed at the aforementioned poster.

Deckard growled under his breath and sworn revenge at the murderer. Shortly after, the door of his room was knocked, followed by a voice of a messenger from the king.

“Sir Deckard!” the messenger called out.

The foreigner walked towards the door and pulled, allowing the messenger to confront him face-to-face, “What do you want?” Deckard asked as his eyes noticed the roll of parchment in the messenger’s hands.

“The king and his family saw you performed greatly at the tournament and wishes you to be present at the feast,” the man dressed in crimson clothes with golden trims and patterns replied. “There will be guests of nobility, your appearance would have to suit the occasion,”

The envoy gave Deckard the letter of invitation and left promptly. It only took him half an hour to prepare himself for the feast and head towards the Grand Hall of Praven where the feast took place. The guards at the entrance stopped him and verified him as a guest after Deckard showed them a sigil of the king.
As soon as he stepped inside the Grand Halls, Deckard finds himself amongst the nobles and the famous individuals of Swadia. The halls itself was covered with white marble, pillars on each side of the bustling hall and at the end of it, lies the throne of the king.

The attendees of the feast enjoyed themselves, bickering about their daily lives or perhaps the state of the kingdom – especially the lords. The wives, daughters and sisters of these noble men were scattered across the hall, engaging in conversations.

“Deckard Winters,” a voice booms from the end of the hall, coming from the throne of the king.

The former knight turned his head and immediately greets King Harlaus with a respectful bow, “Your Highness,”

With the crowd behind Deckard, Harlaus stepped down his throne and began to summon the other final contestants of the tournament. Xerina Davor; the Knife of the Night and Saladin Kai; the Burning Hydra – the hired blade from before.
“Xerina, Saladin and you – Deckard. Enjoy yourselves in the feasts dear warriors, share the wine and ales amongst yourselves. When the feast ends, I wish for you to be present in my study room,” King Harlaus addresses the three of them, with Deckard left clueless in the dark regarding the victor of the tourney.

As the Swadian king dismisses himself in favor for other lords, the three of them departed and enjoyed themselves. While Xerina favors isolation from being a part of the small group of capable warriors, Saladin and Deckard shares the fine ale and a few other stories in a corner of the hall.

“Name’s Deckard eh?” Saladin remarked as the two had their attention on the guests – some were honorable by look while others are the kind people wouldn’t want to mess with.

The Praevorian took a sip from his glass, the sensation and the warm feeling of the ale runs down his throat while the sweet taste of strawberries left a good impression on Deckard’s mind. “Yes,” he replied. “You’ve got an interesting nickname there Sal, whose idea is it to bestow that intimidating title upon you?”

“Oh it was the boys,” Saladin remarked. “The title itself came from the battalion I served in years ago back in Tenusia, the Hydras of Lichdenberg,”

A foreigner. Deckard whispered in his mind.

Tenusia is a large country locating further south into Calradia, a separate land mass with only the Sea of Sorrows separating the two opposite lands. According to the rumors Deckard have heard, the country itself was a master in metallurgy, applying the tactics that ancient empires used to – attack the enemy with an overwhelming force.

“Experiencing never-ending battles back in my country was of course been a part of my life ever since the Volirian Empire began to expand further into the northern parts of the country. Luckily, the Hydras managed to single-handedly defeated the massive force…not after we had sacrificed many towns and cities to the wrath of the Empire,” continued Saladin. The rapid expansion of the Empire brought the attention of all kings and queens of the world, prompting to prepare themselves for the coming war – should the Empire ever stained their lands with innocent blood for conquest.

“What about you Winters? You hold a sword like none other, as if you were experienced in many battles as I do. Your eyes tells me that a large part of your life, was attributed to war,”

Deckard finished his drink and took a deep breath soon after, “Mine was…the Emerald Griffin, the Undying Beast and some even called me as the White King,”

“Pretty interesting names you’ve gained during your time in whatever land you hailed from,”

Deckard lets out a small chuckle, amused by Saladin’s reaction. He puts the glass aside and folds his arms, continuing to tell his own story, “I got it from being a part of many of Praevor’s many crucial battles in their war against the Salamanders. I was, once a part of the Howling Griffins – the military order Praevor relied heavily on during the time. Because of their lack of independence and strategic minds, the Griffins were forced to take arms against our foes on a daily basis. Our numbers dwindled by the time the war ended, either the brothers of the Griffins retired, quit or simply died during the conflict,”

The Salamanders were barbaric tribes who ravaged the land of Praevor for centuries. It was only at the time when Deckard joined the Griffins when the barbarians mounted a full-scale offensive attack on the heart of the nation.

The two former soldiers share their experiences during their time spent slaying countless nameless soldiers serving their enemies. As time quickly drains the night and dawn approaches, the feasts continues while a few nobles have returned to their respective strongholds to take a few hours of rest. The king emerged once again, gesturing to the three combatants to be present in Harlaus’ room where the finest books were neatly arranged.

Saladin and Deckard left their glasses behind, followed closely behind king Harlaus who lead them down a hallway.

As the three entered the study room – which in Deckard’s eyes was not exactly a room, it’s another hall with shelves of books written by the land’s finest scholars were kept. In the middle of the hall, lies a large round table where the king would conduct his researches.

The three of the finalists had their attention to all parts of the hall, “I see you three are rather confused as to why you’re here,”. Harlaus addressed to their cluelessness. “Forgive your king young ones, for my sudden invitation,”
Xerina, spoke to the king and an unpleasant manner, “Why are we here? Why do you want?”

Harlaus however, didn’t flinch at Xerina’s attitude as he was expecting a personality like hers to shine through in common fighters who’d raise a sword for a fat sack of gold. “Have a seat,” the king invited the three.

The female arena fighter pulled back a chair and sat, alongside the other two veteran former soldiers who were mesmerized by the marvelous architecture of the place. “Why are we here Your Highness? It is indeed a very sudden invitation, not to mention you’ve allowed three fighters with two of them not even being a victor of the tournament,” Saladin spoke out.

With the Hydra’s words it seemed clear to Deckard that the undefeated champion remained her status as the dominant force in tournaments. Deckard folds his arms and puts his back against the chair he sat on.

“The three of you are amazing fighters indeed just like my advisor told me,” Harlaus cracks a friendly smile to the three of them. “Bernard observed the tournament and noticed the three of you fighting in ways that no other fighters of the arena had done before – with the exception of you Xerina, Bernard has always been fascinated by the way you incapacitate your foes,”

Saladin, Deckard and Xerina became far more confused than before, “Our questions have not been answered Your Highness,”

“Ah, yes,” Harlaus continued. “By going directly to my own objective, I wanted to you three to be a part of my army. The finest armor and weapons shall be in your possession should you enlist yourself as a sworn soldier to Swadia. Dinars will be paid to you weekly in a very large amount,”

Deckard immediately stood with his expression displaying his disinterest of becoming a part of Harlaus’ army in search for conquest. He politely pushed the chair back into its place and stormed out of the hall.

He’s only here because of the one murderer who took his father’s life. His conquest – revenge and it’s the sole reason why he step foot into the war torn land of Calradia – not to seek fortune nor fame, but to exact revenge and bring the man to justice.

He returned to the tavern. As he stepped in he heard the distant voices of the men who spoke about Fedorian. Instantly, he took a few steps closer towards the table from where he heard the name. The men noticed him coming, “May I help you sir?”

“Where’s Fedorian?” Deckard asked as his voice growled and his face became as cold as ice, expressionless.

The men went silent for a few short seconds, not until one of them broke the silence with a grunt, “Are you going to find him?”
“That is none of your concern,”

“You can’t find Fedorian. He is Fedorian the Cunning and he always lives up to his name,”

“I don’t care,” Deckard replied. “Where did you last saw him?” he asked.

“It wasn’t us, it was the villagers who travelled here that said so,” the one with a farmer’s hat spoke out. “Where did he mention the place again?” the farmer turned to his friend who had a more tough build, with Deckard noticing the bow and arrows laid next to him – a hunter.

“It was near Azgad the villagers said. Travel to the northwestern side of the city and you’ll find the place easily,”

Deckard thanked the men and left the table without sparing a glance to them. Retuning to his room, he packed all his belongings and strapped on his black leather armor before leaving the tavern.
 
Chapter 2: The Wolf​

Bjorn Wolfhunt,
The City of Wercheg,
11th year of King Ragnar’s reign on the Nords,​

Sweat trickled down the neck of Bjorn, a captain of the guardsmen of Wercheg, the capital to the northern kingdom of the unified Nordic tribes under the leadership of King Ragnar. The sun rises up high, it was noon and the cold winds of the city would make the weaklings shiver.

Another of the guardsmen appeared at Bjorn’s side, First Guard Sigrun who is a man slightly taller than Bjorn and perhaps even younger than him. The wolf pelts the guardsmen had on their backs surely kept them warm. “How’s the watch Bjorn?” Sigrun broke the silence between the two.

“Everything is good Sig,” replied the muscular guardsman to his fellow comrade. The silent winds howls through the forests of the city, the only sounds that’d accompany the guardsmen at winter night. “Have you heard anything at Sargoth?”

Sigrun stood beside Bjorn, leaning forward against the cold stone bricks of the walls. “Why should I care about the bastards at Sargoth? They’re basically weaklings who cower behind the warm walls and the ladies of the city,”

“But you can’t deny Sargoth has the best ladies right?” Bjorn continued as they both burst out laughter. “I heard that the king was going to hire mercenaries from Tenusia,”

“Tenusia? I thought they have been annexed by the Empire months ago,”

“Apparently not, I also heard that the Mages Association had trouble finding a way to recruit more soldiers into the Order of the Snow,”.

The Order of the Snow was tasked to defend the Nords from all threats. All while wearing a sigil of a white tree on a grey background and was considered as an elite military branch of the kingdom. “Wait, why does the Mages wanted to help the Order in recruiting men? Is it because of the supernatural thingies that would reach the land?”

“Perhaps, the South as we know was defended by the men of the Immortal Sun. Against the unknown is when all the kingdoms of Calradia decided to band together and put aside their differences,”

Sigrun chuckled at the current state of Calradia, “But for the throne of the land itself? They won’t abandon this matter, there will be wars waged against one kingdom and another,”

“I know,”

Then the sound of horses galloping in the distance. Thundering sounds of cavalry echoes throughout the woods and Bjorn immediately signals the two guardsmen on duty at the gates below to be prepared. As the horses arrived, the guardsmen pointed their ice cold spears towards the man who lead the cavalry.
“State your business!” the guard with a lean posture shouted at the black armored man with a black and red cape swaying at his back. His helm obscures the face of the rider with the shape of a skull.

Bjorn studies the horse-rider and immediately recognizes he is one of the Deathriders, wandering black armored knights who sought to purge the realm of evil.

The rider spoke out with a deep voice, “I wish to speak with your captain…and your king if he is present,”

“King Ragnar’s not here Azoth!” shouted Bjorn from the top of the wall to Commander Azoth, the leader of the 700 strong wandering battalion of the Deathriders.

Azoth looked up and addresses Bjorn, “Ah, Captain. Right on time,”

Bjorn gestures to the gate watchers to lift the gates, allowing them Riders to pass through the walls. The Nordic captain went down and greets Azoth. “What’s the problem?”

The Deathrider commander peered side by side before turning his attention once more to Bjorn, “We need to discuss this matter, in private,”

“Follow me,” Bjorn then leads Azoth to the War Room. He went down into an underground tunnel which leads to the secluded War Room where only the highest of rankings may enter.

Azoth then removes his helm, revealing a handsome young man with a defined jaw, a black hair tied to the back and red, crimson eyes. “The shamans of the mountains Bjorn,”

“What is wrong with those men?”

“They’ve…been acting strangely this past few days, muttering the words that would mean the doom of all life on Calradia. The Deathriders only noticed this as a few villages have voiced their concerns about their shamans, so I’ve sent a few men to the Heart of Thorns to find out,”

“Deep into the mountains? You know that place is crawling with ice wraiths Azoth,” Bjorn said. The mountains of the north were home to many supernatural beings, from ice wraiths to the Giants but they would never come to the Flatlands as they call it.

“But the wraiths weren’t the problem, according to my men they’ve only witnessed the corpse of the dead shamans as they enter the Thorns. The body was intact but their skin is cold, colder than ice itself, there were no stench of rotting flesh nor do the flies that would swarm a dead body,”

“I’m guessing that you needed my help to find information regarding this?” said the captain. The lights of the room flickered, silence followed. The matter of the supernatural must be a priority or else all of life would fall victim to its darkness.
It took Azoth a while to nod to Bjorn’s statement. “Very well,” Bjorn continued as he stepped nearer towards the door. “I’ll have some Scholars to do research on this,”

“Your assistance is of very much appreciated Bjorn, the Deathriders thanks you captain,” Azoth left the room as he puts back his intimidating helm on.
As the two returned to their posts, Azoth bids the captain farewell with high hopes for Bjorn that he’ll accomplish his task with ease. Azoth rode on his horse and lead his band of deathly knights out of Wercheg.

The black horses of the riders symbolizes the hellish punishment that would come to the evil of the land. According to the villagers, the existence of the Riders dates back to the earlier years of the once glorious empire of Calradia. These black knights once served under the banner of the emperor, wearing silver ornate plate armor and during the time of the empire, these glorious knights were tasked to slay a demonic beast known as the Halag whose territory is the deserts of Sarran – where the Sultanate lies now. The knights were slain in battle but they said they actually survived, the flames of the Halag stained their armor black and they passed down their duty to slay the beast to their recruits, giving them the black armor as a reminder of their duty.

With Azoth as the current leader and their once primary objective forgotten by the ages, the Deathriders now wanders the land of Calradia, purging the evil and laying the souls of the unrest to peace.

Hours after the riders left the city, Bjorn immediately heads to the Guild of Scholars and asked for their assistance. Nordic Scholars are well versed in the supernatural.

As the captain enters the guild, the magnificent size of the guild surely amaze him every time he enters the guild. The light blue robes and white snow trims were common as the Scholars wore it as a uniform. An old man, far older than Bjorn himself with a grey beard appeared at his side as the captain entered the Guild Hall, “Ah captain, what do you need from us? More research?”

Realizing that the man was addressing a question to him, Bjorn immediately pulled his attention away and shifted towards the older man, “Oh, Master Keros. I’m really sorry for bothering you today, I need your help and you only,” whispered Bjorn as to not raise suspicion.

“What is it? I sense that this matter is very…delicate,”

“Yes indeed, I fear there is a new beast of the unknown have risen in the mountains. All the details are in this parchment,” Bjorn reaches for his pouch and took out a small paper, giving it to Keros. “Again Master, I’m indeed very sorry to disturb you on the worst of times. Surely you have better things to do,”

“I have nothing better to do than researching whatever beasts you claim to exist young Bjorn, the smell of books and scrolls do excite me whenever you asked us Masters to do a research,” Keros pats Bjorn’s shoulder, giving him a smile as a sign of friendship. Then the voices of young Scholars called out to Keros from a distance, requiring his immediate attention, “Our time today is very short I’m afraid, I will be seeing you soon Bjorn,”

The captain then bid the Master farewell as Keros left Bjorn’s side for the Scholars.

For the Nords there is little attention given to studying Calradia’s ancient history as children were expected to excel in combat, especially every firstborn males.

Bjorn was not an exception but he look up to the Scholars for their knowledge, their intelligence as Bjorn himself believed that the smartest minds would bring the poorest of kingdoms into glory.
 
Chapter 3: The Centaur​

Luther Ambrose,
The Dungeons of Shariz,
4th year of Sultan Hakim’s reign of the Sultanate​

The war between the Khanate and the Sultanate has gone on for years with only temporary truces to stop the conflict. Borders shifted constantly as Sanjar Khan’s forces pushes the Sarranids back into their deserts. Sultan Hakim wouldn’t back down so easily however, the more the Khan and his men pushed, the harder the Sarranids fought.

The dominance over the South has gone on for decades, perhaps even generations. The most recent stronghold to fall into the Sultanate’s grasp was Ichamur, a city that displays the Khanate’s might and ferociousness. But it fell nonetheless.

The hot chains burnt the wrists of any prisoner, the scorching heat dried their lips and throat, making them unable to speak, to move and to lift their heads high. Being dragged across the deserts of Sarran as a prisoner was the worst days of Luther’s life, a mercenary serving as a hired blade.

He and alongside 100 or so prisoners were defeated and captured during the Fall of Ichamur. His legs felt weak, unable to support his weight. Luther’s ribs began to show and prisoners died almost every day as time passes by.

Surviving the early days as a prisoner was still considered a blessing, a symbol of perseverance. But as the days goes longer and the nights shorter, one would pray to the angel of death to bring the soul to peace. The food were merely leftovers and it wasn’t even enough to feed everyone, thus Luther had to fight for it.

On his 30th day, from the 100 captured soldiers, now only 20 remained. Some starved, some were sold to the brokers, others were auctioned as slaves and some even had the guts to commit suicide. Luther had thoughts of ending his life but it was until he reached Shariz, the capital of the Sultanate.

He heard Hakim’s voice, telling the guards to throw the remaining prisoners into the dungeon. Luther however fell unconscious from exhaustion.

The next thing he knew, he was already in a cell with cold, iron bars to separate themselves from other prisoners. The dimly lit halls offer them little vision on their surroundings. Luther scanned the area with his eyes and finds a barred window – dark skies and starless, it’s night.

He sat on the cold stone floor with his hands still in shackles ever since he became a prisoner. A plate of food was laid right in front of him, it was nothing more than a piece of bread and a baked potato.

He looked at the plate for a while until one of the prisoners called him out, “You there! Hey!” the man in front of his cell whispered. “Do you want to eat that?” the prisoner, dirty and skimpy, looked malnourished perhaps of the long and hellish days he spent as a prisoner.

Luther gave the man his look and began eating his bread. Silence ensues.
Then suddenly, the sound of an iron door being slammed caught their attention followed by sounds of struggle and voices of the guards. Not long after, the empty cell to Luther’s right was opened and another prisoner filled in. “You should stay where you belong thief!” said the Mamluke who guards the entrance.

The newcomer stood up and looked at the guard before he spat onto the ground. “Damned Sarranids,” he muttered under his breath.

Luther couldn’t care less however, all he needed to do was survive and find a way to return to his home back in Jelkala where his loving wife and children stayed. As he finishes his meal, he threw the plate away curled up in the corner of his dark cell, wanting to have a good sleep.

“What’s with this guy?” the thief remarked.

“Him? He’s a mercenary I guess, just look at his scars and you’ll get the idea,” said the skimpy prisoner who replied to the thief.

The newcomer cracked a smile and walked closer towards Luther. His leg is able to pass through the bars and began kicking the mercenary, “Hey. Hey! Wake up!”

Luther ignored the first few kicks. But the more the thief does, he was annoyed by his immature acts. Irritated, Luther quickly turned around and grabbed the criminal’s leg, pulling it towards him.

The thief squealed in pain and Luther’s gripped tightened around the ankles. “Don’t. Disturb. Me,” Luther spoke out with a cold voice, enough to intimidate him. The hired blade released his grip and continues to sleep at the corner.

“It was a bad move kid, you shouldn’t mess with a soldier,” said the prisoner in front of Luther. He then observed Luther, starting to become curious about his past, “Hey you, what’s your name?” the prisoner asked.

There was silence for a few short moments. But then, “Luther,” the mercenary muttered.

“Luther huh? Name’s Kaidan, a former soldier of the Headhunters,”

“Headhunters?!” the thief shouted in surprise. “The legendary bounty hunters?!”

“Yes kid, but we have since disbanded when one of our own had a family. Have to give the guy time to raise a perfect family of his own right?” Kaidan lets out a small laugh, remembering the days he spent with the Headhunters. “What about you kid? What’s your name?”

The boy looked away, “Azar, most of the townsfolk knew me by Lynx,”

“No wonder they called you a thief, you’re the infamous Lynx,”

“Wha-? I’m famous now?!!”

“But not in a good way that is,” Luther spoke as he quietly listens to the conversation between the two captives. “A thief has the same value as a slave. But considering our conditions right now, we’re all the same,”

“Hey! We’re not the same as – “

“Shut it you damned bastards!” one of the Mamlukes shouted before continuing on their duty guarding the prison.

“Let’s take a rest, there’ll be an auction held at the square tomorrow,” said the former bounty hunter as he laid his back against the cold stone floor.



The sun slowly rises up, illuminating the cold interiors of the dungeon. The sounds of the commoners echoed through the walls. “Wake up! Wake up!” shouted the two Mamluke guards as they rushed inside the prison, unlocking the iron doors and dragging the prisoners out.

The clanking armor of the guards woke up Luther and his acquaintances. “The hell’s happening?” asked Azar as he observed the first few cells had emptied as prisoners were carried away to the compound.

“They’re rounding the prisoners up for auction,” Kaidan responded as he stood up and looked at the guards as well, “That includes us Lynx. And Luther,” he continued.

The hired blade stood with shackles still confined to him, looking at the guards violently dragging the prisoners away from their cells. Luther observed as they opened up the doors one by one, inching even closer to their own cells.

Just half an hour later, Luther and the rest were brought into the compound with the auctioneer standing in front of the rows of prisoners ready to be bought by gold. He lead them into the square where the public would see the buyers taking part.

Luther however, was waiting for the perfect moment to escape. Seeing as this is the only time he could run away, he closely observed his surroundings, the pathways to every street and counted the number of men stationed on the walls.

He stepped out of the line, eyes straight towards the guards escorting the prisoners and hands ready to strike. Although Luther had lost his strength during his in the desert, but his unwavering determination to be free fueled Luther and gave him more strength than needed.

Luther took a few steps forward and prepares to meet freedom…
 
Arnulf Floyd 说:
Good to see stories with M&B WB, you using vanilla or a mod such as Floris and Diplomacy?
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Diplomacy. I haven't downloaded Floris yet but I'll try.

Since I have multiple POVs, I have no make quite a few changes. So there are still similar elements from the game but there WILL be changes like the addition of new things like the aforementioned Deathriders in Chapter 2. It's just my way to make things interesting.
 
Chapter 4: When The Winds of Winter Howled​

Deckard Winters,
The outskirts of Azgad,
8th year of King Harlaus’ reign on the Swadians,​

As Deckard left the city of Praven immediately after hearing the news about Fedorian the Cunning, he was caught up by Saladin. “Deckard!”

The Praevorian turned his attention towards Saladin, surprised at him following from behind, “Saladin, I thought you accepted the king’s offer,”

Saladin merely scoffed at Deckard’s words, “It wasn’t in my current interests to fight for a king without someone I can trust,”

“Oh? So you’re trusting me? Even though we’ve only met?” Deckard remarked.

“Bah, shut it. We’re both hired blades once, I disliked the fact that fighting for the crown in this land is worthless as it only brought more misery. I’ve seen enough starving families in the darkest streets of Praven,” Saladin replied. “By the way where are you heading?”

“Azgad,” he said.

After hours travelling by foot, the two of them reached the outskirts of the village. It seemed rather prosperous, with children running around playing with each other and villagers retuning from their farms. The village elder stood and watched on top of a hill, helping the lord of the village to organize the folks of Azgad.

Deckard soon went and asked the people of the village regarding Fedorian. Most of them do not who he is but those who do, Fedorian left the village at dawn, running away from the bounty hunters who seek his head. The Praevorian soon seemed to give up on hope just as the sun was high up in the sky, gazing down upon them with its scorching heat.

It’s hot here, unlike home. Deckard thought to himself as the lands of Praevor were slightly colder than Calradia. The winds of summer kept blowing and the storms of winter were considerably worse than most places.
Saladin then felt the ground trembled and heard the distant war cries of soldiers. One of the villagers soon shouted, “The Nords!” from the top of his lungs.

From the hills they came, with spears, axes and the banners of the Nordic king charging down towards Azgad. The villagers soon scattered around like rats with the Nordic Huscarls and Warriors slaughtering the innocents. Deckard and Saladin watched in horror as the Nords took everything the villagers had – wine, bread, the women and even the children.

“Dammit, we have to help them run!” said Deckard as he quickly rushed to help the elders evacuate the runaways from the raid.

Saladin offered the villagers protection as he drew out his sword and defended the unarmed folks of Azgad. Pillars of smoke began to rise and block the sun, the screams of the villagers pierced through the ears of the survivors. Deckard wanted to fight these Nordic men but he knew he’d die the second he charged in without an army to back him up.

“Saladin! We have to move now!” Deckard shouted and the two immediately departed from Azgad, leading the villagers into safety. From a top of another hill, they witnessed the Nords raided and pillaged their home. Deckard turned and saw faces of men and women who swore revenge upon these Nordic men.

The roars of the huscarls were heard even from a distance. Today, Deckard’s adventures on Calradia finally began as he and Saladin travelled through parts of Swadia, recruiting numerous volunteers to become a part of a new mercenary band – the Crimson Rose he called it.

Saladin trained the newly recruited men into men-at-arms while Deckard puts his skills into good use by guiding them into becoming well-trained sergeants.

With a small band of mercenaries with 45 men strong, the Crimson Rose travelled to further parts of the land, namely the city of Jelkala, where the Rhodokian king would reign. Realizing that he was running low on gold, Deckard and Saladin took the chance to participate in the tournament that was being held in the city.

The two made a great team, advancing through numerous stages against Rhodokian sergeants and even the lords of the kingdom. Unfortunately, Saladin was knocked out by the third tier by Lord Montewar.

Deckard was forced to advance through the rankings by himself and managed to enter the final round where he and Dranton, another skilled fighter on the same level as Xerina, faced off against one another.

The veteran arena fighter hit Deckard hard in the legs, taking him down but not enough to defeat the mercenary leader. Using the dirty tactics he learned back as a child in Praevor, Deckard plunges towards Deckard and pushing Dranton down on the ground.

Without any moment to hesitate, Dranton raises his arms to block the son of Praevor’s attacks but it was useless as one swift punch from Deckard ended the round. Now entitled as the champion of the tournament, the people of Jelkala gave their praises towards him and he could enter the feast held in the castle as he was considered the victor.

Earning a fat sack of gold, Deckard entered the hall with the same atmosphere during his time in Praven, with the lords bickering on their usual conversations and their daughters looking at him. One of which caught his attention, Lady Qutala the sister to a Khergit defector, Lord Sebuya who was once known as Sebula Noyan.

As Deckard took his time drinking the fine ale of the Rhodoks and eating its delicious meals, Qutala soon went to Deckard. “Is there anything you need milady?” Deckard said as he noticed her approaching, giving her a proper bow.

“Oh it’s nothing Sir Winters, I just wanted to say that you perform spectacularly during the tournament,” the brown-haired lady spoke out.
Deckard thanked her. “Well, I shall dedicate the success of this recent tournament to you, Lady Qutala,”

Feeling curious into knowing more of the mercenary, she stood next to Deckard and observed his behavior, “The way you fight and the way you talk to us nobles contrasts each other, Deckard. You fight like a mercenary, hungry for battle but you talk and act like a noble,”

Deckard went silent for a few short moments with Qutala giving him the concerned look, “Well, I was raised as the illegitimate to my father back home but my father took care of me just like his legal children. For my fighting skills however, I was trained by numerous mentors, each teaching different ways of fighting,”

“It must be fascinating to be able to travel to parts of the world,” she replied.

The Praevorian cracked a smile, “Not until you’ve ran out of gold,”
Qutala laughed at Deckard’s words. While a few lords observed the two in disgust as a noble talking to a commoner was considered…as a stain to their noble status, Qutala seemed to not care about how the other lords think.

The feast went on for hours and dragged on into the next day. Deckard soon left the castle hall and bought food supplies in the marketplace for his men. Saladin had his injuries treated and congratulates Deckard for his victory.
“Where to next?” Saladin asked as he rode onto his horse.

As the sun rises and sets every day, the number of the Crimson Rose increased steadily as Deckard recruits several hired blades and mercenary cavalries from taverns as well as volunteer from the villages of Kelredan, Burglen and Ehlerdah. From 45 men to a band of 89 capable warriors fit for battle.

The Crimson Rose encountered no opposing parties for countless of days, even accompanying Deckard into accomplishing tasks given by the various lords of different kingdoms. That is until, they encountered a huge bandit party with over 100 men armed with weapons prepared to kill.

The mercenaries had no other options but to fight. With Deckard and Saladin at the front lines, they lead their small band of warriors into battle. The unmatched skill of the sergeants and knights allowed them to propel themselves into victory. But the battle itself was brutal.

Limbs dismembered, arrows pierced through the hearts and into the eyes of their enemies. Horses were slain, enemies routed and even begging for their lives to be spared. The Crimson Rose won the battle, but not without a few casualties.

They retrieved the bodies of their fallen comrades, giving them a proper burial. This is the first battle of the Crimson Rose and there is no doubt that more will come in the future.

“Sir!” called one of the sergeants as he hands out a piece of paper to Saladin, “Here’s the list of casualties sir, 14 died and 20 were heavily injured,” said the sergeant before returning to his post.

Saladin sighed as he read through the list before handing it over to Deckard, “The injured men can be recovered, although we need a physician to help our apothecaries tend their wounds,”

Deckard observed the graves of the fallen warriors, grieving for their deaths. “We’ll head to Suno to find one there,”

The company left the battlefield near Grunwalder and headed towards Suno, another of Swadia’s largest cities while avoiding other bandit parties to minimize casualties. As they arrived, the size of the city mesmerized them as Suno was regarded the trade center for Swadia by some, with caravans going into and out from the city.

Saladin and Deckard heads towards the infirmaries the city had to offer the public. With many failed attempts, they decided to take a rest in the local tavern. There, a man dressed in robes and a stick on his back – perhaps a weapon to defend himself? He was bald in the middle and overhears the conversation between the two leaders of the Rose.

As Deckard and Saladin sat down for a drink, the approached the two, “Excuse me sir, I heard you were looking for an apothecary – a physician for your band of mercenaries,”

Saladin turned his head to the man, “Yes we are indeed looking for people capable in tending our men’s wounds. Are you able to find someone who can help us?” the Hydra asked.

The man soon revealed himself to be Jeremus, a philosopher and a doctor skilled in the healing arts. Evicted from the university he used to study in for disagreeing with the teachings of Galerius, a renowned Calradian doctor, Jeremus has since wandered through the land to further sharpen his knowledge and skills in medicine.

Deckard immediately accepted the man into his mercenary band and departed early at dawn, with the newly-acquired doctor tending the wounds of the injured and teaching the apothecaries in medicine.



I have plans for Saladin though. Thinking of doing something called the Saladin Journals, detailing his adventures in Tenusia as a part of the Hydras of Lichdenberg. What do you think?

The political statuses between the factions are as follows:
Swadians were at war with the Nords
Rhodoks is at peace.
Vaegirs is at peace
Khergits were at war with the Sarranids
 
Chapter 5: The March of Wolves​

Bjorn Wolfhunt,
The City of Sargoth,
11th year of King Ragnar’s reign on the Nords, ​

Sargoth, a city located far from the coldness of the North. Beautiful indeed as the strength of the Nordic men were displayed by its strong architecture, built out of stone and made by the kingdom’s finest architects, Sargoth was considered a masterpiece by its builders. However, it is the subject to corrupt minds of the law, heinous activities were common here, illegal trades and all sorts of black market actions were carried out here.

Bjorn was ordered to escort a new batch of reinforcement to bolster the city’s defenses. Leading 200 men comprised of soldiers from various ranks, he lead them into the Vaegir territory, passing through the Thin River and the village of Fenada.

The journey itself wasn’t harsh as Bjorn arrived only a few days later, with the people of Sargoth were mesmerized at the soldiers brought by the captain of the Wercheg guards.

The reinforcements were successfully implemented into the garrison, ready with their ice-cold steel weapons for the enemy – the Swadians.

“Where’s the king?” Bjorn asked the captain of the Sargoth guardsmen – Ulric Stormrider.

The middle-aged man with gold locks watched over the city as a wolf observing its pups. “The king is raiding Azgad at the moment, attempting to hinder the enemy’s capability to raise an army,” Ulric replied.

“The other lords?”

“Turegor’s whereabouts is not known, Aeric however is seen patrolling Jelbegi and from our spies in Praven have stated that, they are about to launch an offensive against us. Possibly targeting this damned city,”

Bjorn draws his sword, observing its cold blades as it glimmers in the sun, “You’d think those Swadian bastards would stand a chance against our Sargothian Steel?” he asked, as the blades of the Nords have now been forged from the cold but very durable steel of Sargoth.

“Try not to get cocky Bjorn, our blades were meant for the cold beasts in the mountains even if it worked on human flesh,” Ulric remarked as he touches the blade of Bjorn’s sword, gently pushing down, “Weapons are only a part for achieving total conquest,”

“I know Ulric, but some things just…bothers me, like a lot,” Bjorn muttered under his breath as he sheathes his sword. He leans forward against the wall, “Do you ever think why we are fighting for the All-Seeing Throne?”

Ulric remained silent with eyes peering over the denizens of the city below, “I do not know myself. The king said he wanted to unite all the kingdoms, but I heard rumors that Ragnar was after something else…”

It intrigued Bjorn, rumors of their king wanting to achieve a goal other than uniting all of Calradia was something worth listening to, “Like what?”

“He wanted power above all else. But other people suggested that he wanted to unite the land to launch a sort of…crusade against the demons of Sarran,”

“Okay that other rumor seems rather…relevant, regarding our constant battle against the beasts of that place,” Bjorn replied. “Does that make Ragnar the prophesied Savior of Calradia?”

Ulric took his time thinking, remembering the words that he once heard as a child back when he lived in the base of the mountains, “The prophesy that the shamans spoke of is different. As ‘a king of a desolate land would come, wielding a sword as bright as the sun, with beasts that would make the demons run’. That’s what they said,” Ulric said. “But of course, my mind is not as strong as my body when time isn’t on my side, I have forgotten parts of it so I could be wrong,”

“Yeah, it does go something like that – “ Bjorn was cut off mid-sentence as a messenger arrived at the gates of Sargoth.

The two captains went down the stairs with Ulric signaling the men to lift the gates. Ulric then took the message from the envoy’s hands and immediately read it. As his eyes widened at the words written down in the parchment, the captain of Sargoth instantly orders his men to prepare themselves.
Confused by the situation, Bjorn immediately asked Ulric, “Hey, what happened? What in the eight hells is going on?”

Ulric turned, cracking a smile on his face, “Ragnar…has finally said the word…”

“Bring on the wolves,”. The one order that rallies all armies of the Nords. Ragnar summoned upon the very foundation that made the Nordic kingdom strong, the wolves – the soldiers. In a few days, the kingdom of the Nords would march upon the land of the Lion, pillaging and defeating its lords.

In an instant the best men who were stationed at the garrison took up arms and forming ranks right outside the main gate. Bjorn looked down, frustrated as his efforts in escorting the guards to Sargoth was all for naught. The blue banners of Ragnar flew over the heads of the Huscarls with Ulric and one of the Nordic Jarls, Aedin to lead the men into battle.

Bjorn heard the men would rally with the other armies at Jelbegi Castle where the remaining Jarls of the kingdom would gather, launching a full scale attack on Swadia to cripple its foundation to the core.

With only a few hundred men left in the garrison of Sargoth, Bjorn had no other choice but to stay as its captain would be absent from duty.

The army of Sargoth finally left the compound, marching into enemy territory. This is the day that the future lords of Calradia would soon be known as ‘The March of Wolves’, men and women, anyone skilled enough to wield a sword and even mercenaries took part in the March.

Hours after they have left, Bjorn noticed that most of the remaining stationed in the city mainly comprised of low-ranking soldiers, most notably, recruits. The Werchegian captain merely sighed at the sight of it and began gathering the recruits in the training grounds of the city.

Without a minute to spare, Bjorn gave them instructions and guidance, teaching them discipline and the art of war. The higher ranks of the garrison however were amazed by the captain’s leadership and even asked for guidance for battle.

Days later, as Bjorn stood vigilantly on top of the Sargothian walls, a messenger came rushing towards the main gates. Bjorn rushes down to meet the messenger, “I brought a message from the Grandmaster of the Order of the Wolves,”

“To whom?” Bjorn asked.

The messenger reached for his satchel and pulled out the message, handing it over to Bjorn. “It’s yours captain, the Grandmaster stated that only you can view the message,”

Bjorn nodded and the messenger departs immediately. He opens the message and read through its lines…



Just a note, the three characters are meant to give an insight upon the happenings on the world. With Bjorn, he'll give us a look in the more supernatural aspects of the land.

I'm also trying to implement several of the companion and lord dialogs into the overall narrative, as well as some other elements. I'll also try to bring some screenshots just to give something less...wordy to the chapters.
 
Chapter 6: The Price of Freedom​

Luther Ambrose,
The City of Shariz,
4th year of Sultan Hakim’s reign on the Sultanate,​

One of the guards escorting the prisoners were no match for Luther’s strength. Pinned down by the leg, the Mamluke helplessly trying to use Luther’s own strength against him. He finds a spiked mace nearby but is unable to reach it, leaving the supposedly elite horseman helpless.

But the other guards soon noticed Luther’s struggle and attempted to help their fellow comrade. The mercenary’s actions however, had inspired the rest of the prisoners to fight for their freedom. Some took the pebbles on the ground and started to throw at the guards while others wrestled over them.

The archers stationed at the walls also noticed this small uprising and aimed for their hearts. The prisoners do fall dead because of this, piercing through their hearts and skull with their arrows.

Luther managed to knock the Mamluke out and took his weapons – an iron mace and a cavalry shield, a reinforced one at that. He charged at the archers, taking them off one by one either by killing them or letting gravity decide their fate.

He went down the walls and eyes for the exit. He rushed towards it, cutting one of the horses loose and stole it, riding off to the outskirts of the city into safety. Now branded as a criminal attempting a prison break, Luther had no other choice but to head west – into Rhodokian territory.

The lush green lands of the kingdom of Rhodoks made a good first impression on the hired blade. It seemed rather peaceful at the moment, without the horrors of war to stain its beautiful landscapes.

Luther began to travel deeper into the kingdom’s territory, passing by Jamiche Castle and Ibdeles Castle which stood as the two strongholds that would become the kingdom’s frontlines if the Sultanate declares war upon the Rhodoks.

A huge fortification appeared in the distance, the city of Jelkala caught Luther’s attention as he needed food and perhaps healthcare to nurse him back to health. He entered the city through its main gates and noticed the banners flying over the gates, one of the king’s symbolic bear on green while the other was that of a red rose upon a black background.

Luther then heard that a tournament was held in the arena. Without hesitation, he entered the competition despite his weakened state.

The hired blade was able to plunge himself into victory until the 3rd round until he was bested by one of the men carrying the rose banner. Although he lost the tournament, he was able to get a small amount of dinars for participating.

“100 dinars was enough,” he quietly muttered to himself.

He then visited the doctors of the city to get his wounds treated. Although badly wounded from the tournament and from the escape, Luther managed to regain his strength and decided to train an army.

Having all of his weapons and armor lost during the Fall of Ichamur, Luther had to raise more money in order to be effective and durable during battles. Thus, he visited the Guild where he asked for any tasks to be done.

Through the Guild Master, he began to understand the kingdoms that reside within the land and through him, a task is given, to retrieve a kidnapped girl from the kidnappers either by gold or by blood.

Luther rode through the nights, up into the hills near Ibdeles Castle while avoiding the Mountain Bandits that would prey upon lone travelers. He then saw the kidnappers, one holding a girl in his hands while 5 others stood on guard as they saw Luther.

“Hand over the gold boy,” the burly man who held the girl said. The kidnapped maiden herself was not older than 18 – perhaps she was taken away while at the farm.

Luther merely stepped down from the horse, without a single word to say. He clenched his fist, taking a few steps forward. “Let the girl go,” he growled.

“Gold first,” another of the kidnappers spoke out. “Then the girl,”

He observed his surroundings, studied the men and instantly knew he couldn’t win a fight against them. Thus, he took the bag of gold and threw it at the ground. “Here’s your gold, 150 dinars just as you asked,”

The muscular kidnapper chuckled and released the girl, throwing her towards Luther.

The girl cried in Luther’s arms, scared after days becoming their hostage. They left the men to their gold, and when they are out of sight, Luther soon comforted the girl. “It’s okay now,” he muttered into her ear. “You’re safe,”

He pulled the bag that wrapped around her head, revealing a beautiful girl with golden hair tied in braids, with eyes of gold and a face without freckles. Tears trickled down her cheek as she looked up to Luther, “Who are you? Did your father sent you?” she asked.

“Yes,” Luther answered. “What’s your name?”

She was hesitant to speak her name, “Amanda,” she said.

The two then head back towards Jelkala, travelling through the nights while avoiding other unwanted companies. Luther then handed her over to the Guild Master who’ll make the final preparations for the girl’s return to her family.

As a reward for Luther’s service, the Guild offers him 400 dinars. That wasn’t too bad. Luther thought as he left the city and travel towards Yalen, a the furthest city from Jelkala. Upon reaching his destination, he heads for the tavern, checking in and renting a room to stay for a few nights.

Luther had a few things to be done in the city, to raise more money, to buy new weapons and armor, charting out the safest route back to his home in Tulga all while he trained himself in various forms of combat.

His training sessions however, attracted Lezalit’s attention – a drill instructor who is the son of a Geroian count – a noble. As he observed Luther trained day by day, he soon began to help the mercenary hone his skills.

“You leave quite a lot of openings there,” Lezalit remarked as he observed from a short distance.

Luther briefly stopped and continued on training with the stranger continued on giving remarks on Luther’s every move and stances. Feeling dissatisfied and eager to fix his mistakes, he turned to Lezalit. “I see you’re a very observant person. Are you a trainer?” the mercenary asked.

“I am,” the man with the spikey hair answered. “In fact, I trained the soldiers in Ismirala Castle. Until my methods of training made the castle’s lord evicted me as their trainer,”

At that one moment, Luther soon had an idea. It came to him like a stray arrow, “You could be useful in raising an army,” the mercenary spoke. “I’m thinking of raising one and I could someone like you in my party,”

Lezalit smiled at Luther’s words. During his time spent in Calradia, Lezalit travelled to taverns across the land to find someone who can be a military figure and without a doubt, he accepted Luther’s offer.

Upon returning to the tavern, Luther had his eyes for a mercenary cavalry waiting for a new master to lead their spears and swords into battle for a bit of gold.

With only a few dinars left, he couldn’t recruit the mercenaries into his posse. Despite this, he left Yalen and began recruiting volunteers from the nearby villages with Lezalit training the men into elite soldiers.

News began to spread like wildfire as the Kingdom of Rhodoks was under attack by the Sultanate, the one kingdom of Calradia that Luther despises the most. With his band of mercenaries, he took the opportunity of becoming one of the fighting forces for Rhodoks and approached the marshall, Count Etrosq.

“The Sultanate has been bothering us ever since Hakim became the ruler of the deserts,” the count of Etrosq Castle stated. “Are you sure you are up for such conflict?”

Luther chuckled and draws his, with its blade aiming straight for Etrosq’s throat. “You are expecting the wrong kind of man inside me sir, I’ve been fighting for a good part of my life and I’m damned ready for this,”

With his guards stood ready and spears aimed towards Luther, Etrosq was amused with the man in front of him and cracks a smile, “I admire your hunger for battle Luther,” he then pushes the sword away from his throat with his fingers. “Starting from this day, your enemy will be the Sultanate. Stain your steel with their warm blood Luther, and you will be paid handsomely,”

Luther soon sheathes his sword and turned to give his men a look. Without a banner to represent their might, Luther began thinking of a name for his band of mercenaries. “But I shall fight by my own conditions Etrosq,” he said.

The Count simply smiled and nodded to Luther, “Very well, the fields of battle shall be yours, Captain Luther,”

“My blades are yours Etrosq,” he muttered under his breath and sworn his allegiance to the kingdom of Rhodoks. He took a deep breath, “The Black Cross will fight for the Rhodoks, your enemies shall be mine,”

And so begins the War of Three…



Political Updates
Sarranid are wat war with the Khergits and the Rhodoks

NOTE: Every 3 chapters, the perspective will shift from character to character. So that means each of our three protagonists will have a chapter of their own.
 
Chapter 7: A Rose in The Snow​

Deckard Winters,
The City of Dhirim,
8th Year of King Harlaus’ reign on the Swadians.​

The Crimson Rose gathered as many men as they could for the past few weeks while hearing many news regarding a full-scale Nordic invasion into Swadian lands. Deckard and his company had almost 200 men eager for the sweet sound of steel clashing against one another.

As their days as a freelancer mercenary band, the fighting on the Swadian borders kept on raging as nearby castles constantly changing hands. One week the Nords would hold it, and the other the Swadians would retook it.

Deckard and his men rode through the outskirts of Dhirim, a city near the Rhodoks territory. Black pillars of smoke and ash rises up into the sky, the thundering voices of the Huscarls signifies the strength of their people and their lust for the glory of war.

The Crimson Rose rode through the siege lines, unchallenged by the opposing army of Nords. Deckard observed the men, with a clear hatred towards them. The blue banners of Ragnar flew with the wind alongside many others, as all the Jarls of the Nords have come to their king’s aid.

As Deckard rode into the walls of Dhirim, he saw the men up on the walls armed with their bows and crossbows aimed towards their enemies. The gates were lifted, as Deckard had made the decision to defend the city at all costs even without proclaiming his allegiance with the king.

“Deckard, was that – ?” Saladin spoke but was interrupted by the captains roaring out orders to their men. “It’s a siege…” the Hydra muttered.

Deckard immediately went down his horse and requests an audience with the commander of the garrison. Edward VII was the acting leader of the guardsmen of Dhirim, and now he is faced with the opposing army of the Nords with more than 700 men ready to charge into the streets of the city.

“Commander Edward!” Deckard shouted as the man clad in silver plate armor, with obvious scratch marks and dents, signifying his long time fighting on the front lines of war. “How many men do you have on the walls?”

“Only 300 on the walls stranger!” the auburn-haired man replied as he kept on ordering his to take their positions and prepare the defensive weapons.

“I’m here to lend you a hand,” Deckard proposed. “Saladin has estimated that over 700 warriors of the Nordic kingdom would come and fight against our smaller army,” the Praevorian continued as he walked on to the stairs, approaching the commander as he speaks.

Edward sighed, turning towards the Griffin. “How many men do you have? It’s good for people to come for our aid,”

“Only more than 200 men fit for battle. We’ll try to buy the civilians some time to evacuate from the city. If we succeed, we could even find ourselves a victory cry,” Deckard replied as he began to lay down the foundation for a strategy for the upcoming battle.

The two continued on strategizing for a plan with Saladin observed the soldiers of the Rose prepare themselves and are seemed too eager to shed blood for the Rose’s fame.

Jeremus helped the commoners evacuate from the dangerous streets of the city. Guiding them into the safest hold in the city.

Then Deckard came down after finishing their conversation, “Get these men on the walls and we have to be prepared for a tough fight, tougher than we ever faced before,” he spoke into Saladin’s ear.

Only a few short hours later, the war horns were blown and the streets of Dhirim had been emptied by the local law enforcers. An assortment of guards, soldiers, mercenaries and even conscripted civilians have prepared themselves for the coming battle.

Ragnar’s distinct voice booms through the fields as he orders his battle-hardened men to charge into battle. Siege ladders were quickly raised towards the walls, battering rams slowly approached the gates.

Edward signaled the archers and the crossbowmen, pulling out arrows and reloading their crossbows before aiming for the enemies’ head. With one gesture of Edward’s hand, a storm of arrows and bolts struck the Nordic army, many fall under a single wave of the whistling terror of the Swadian defenders.

But it wasn’t enough to repel the resilient huscarls and warriors. Axes flew through the air and arrows whistled as they launch a counterattack on the defenders. The ladders reached the walls and the archer units tried their best to kill the huscarls climbing up the ladders.

Deckard then raises his fist to get his men into combat positions, shields were raised and swords unsheathed. By the time the huscarls reached the top of the ladders, their cold steel clashes with the Swadians’ blade.

Shields were shattered, limbs severed, spears broken and men died during the Siege of Dhirim. For some, it was the perfect opportunity for the Swadian lords to gather their forces and halt the Army of Wolves from ever venturing deeper into the Lion’s lands.

But the lords were occupied with other battles of their own. Leaving Dhirim defenseless to the pack of wolves hungry for conquest.

Deckard’s coat plate armor has been stained by the blood of the men he slew with his bastard sword. Exhausted but unbroken, he continued the fight to repel the Nords from seizing the city. He then heard booming sounds down the main gate, as the men tried their absolute hardest to defend the gates.

The number of men on both sides quickly dwindle as the battle dragged on for a long time. The Swadians have gotten the worst of the fighting and the Nords have breached the walls.

The Swadians retreated to the square to make a final stand alongside the men of the Rose. Their resilience in battle have made the civilians successfully evacuated towards a place far from the city. Deckard, Saladin and Edward raised their swords with the last few men standing.

The Nordic war cries echoed through the streets of Dhirim, and as they approach, Deckard and the others have prepared to meet their demise among the wolves.

With only more than 100 men left to defend the city, Deckard lead the final charge against the warriors of cold. As the two opposing sides clash, Deckard gave his all fighting for the city and its people as he do not want to see more innocent civilians slaughtered just like in Azgad.

He drove his sword into a huscarl, drenching in hot red blood. Deckard then proceeds to violently dispatch a few other soldiers by thrusting the sword into the throat, crushing the skull with a broken shield and cracking their neck.

It was not long after an arrow whooshed through the air and pierced through Deckard’s chest. The Praevorian fell onto the ground and a nearby warrior approached the fallen mercenary leader. The warrior, raises his sword, aiming for Deckard’s heart.

Deckard closes his eyes accepting his fate…but then his face felt warm, drenched in blood. As he opened his eyes, a spear drove through the warrior’s neck. The man fell onto the ground beside Deckard, with empty eyes and the spear itself protruding from his neck.

A ray shone unto the Swadians, as the war cries of the huscarls turned into screams of pain and defeat. The thundering sounds of horses galloping can be heard in the streets and the red banners of the Lion came flew over their heads – King Harlaus has arrived.

The result seems clear – Dhirim won’t fall into Nordic hands. The ruler of the Swadians came, leading the lords of Swadia to push the Nords back into their mountains.

Ragnar however observed the situation unfolds itself from a distance and ordered his remaining men to retreat. The Army of Wolves have been defeated but they will surely return to crush Swadia once and for all.



With Dhirim still in Swadian hands and the Army of Wolves struggled to raise their massive force, King Harlaus decided to throw a feast to celebrate this victory.

Deckard had his injuries treated, the wounds he suffered from do not make a long lasting effect on the man. Saladin however, lost his legs in the battle, broken by the arms of a raging huscarl.

“I can’t feel my legs,” muttered Saladin as Deckard brought him out of the infirmary. “I can’t…f-fee…” his words stuttered at the thought of not being able to walk. Tears watered down Saladin’s eyes, broken by the loss of his legs.

“It’s fine,” Deckard replied, carrying his friend to the tavern room. “You can retire now Saladin, you don’t have to worry about us,”

“No,” Saladin spoke out of anger. “I need to fight, even without both of my legs I have to fight!” he proclaimed.

The two went silent. Arriving at the tavern room Deckard rented, he began to pack Saladin’s belongings and offered him a pouch of gold. “You should – “

The Hydra grabbed Deckard’s hands, “Let me fight,” his eyes burns like fire, his will to fight still shone through his eyes, burning his every thought of quitting his life as a mercenary. “If I can’t be your normal soldier, then let me be your mind Deckard – the mind of the Rose,”

“What do you mean?” the Praevorian gave Saladin his look, puzzled at his words.

“My father always says, in war there are a few things, the Sword – a kingdom’s offensive force, the Shield – the defending warriors and the Mind – the intelligent and cunning strategists of war,” Saladin replied. “Let me aid you in your battles as a strategist Deckard, let me fight alongside you until the end of my life,”

“Well then,” Deckard puts down the bag and the gold. “If your legs doesn’t stop you from fighting, I don’t know what else could,”

The door behind them opened, a familiar stepped in the room – Harlaus. “Deckard,” the king spoke out, “I appreciate for what you’ve done for Dhirim. Without you, it will fall into Nordic hands,” he continued.

“It wasn’t a big deal Your Majesty. But thank you, for saving our lives back there,”

"You and the men of Dhirim have defeated the largest army of the Nords have ever assembled – the Army of Wolves, the people of the land called it. Your men are skilled, trained in the arts of war that the land has never seen before,” the king continued, giving the Praevorian his compliments.

“You are asking me to fight for you? Is that correct?” the Griffin asked and he was sure enough that Harlaus would want him to fight for the kingdom.

“Yes,” the king simply replied.

Deckard took a deep breath, remembering those who died at the raid of the village of Azgad. Their screams haunt him, it became a nightmare. “Alright,” he spoke. “I’ll fight for the kingdom, but not for money,”

“Splendid,” Harlaus clasped his hands as he was relieved of Deckard’s decision. “Your reasons are not of my concern but as long as you raise your sword against the Nords, you’ll have my deepest gratitude,”
 
Chapter 8: Order of the Snow​

Bjorn Wolfhunt,
The Frozen Fortress,
11th year of Ragnar’s reign on the Nords, ​


A new batch of recruits have been sent to the Frozen Fortress, the place where the finest men of the Nords would pass down their skills into younglings. But it is the one place where Bjorn’s deep hatred for his liege would shine through.

For 11 long years, Ragnar have been waging war to gain the further lands. It’s a harsh and a tyrannical leadership where the villagers were forced to work every second to build and repair cities, forge new weapons and armor, becoming soldiers themselves and executing those who are deemed as traitors to the king.

The recruits of the Snow were trained to be the Nord’s finest warriors and defenders. To achieve this, they were indoctrinated in order to remain loyal to their king. Receiving a letter from the Grandmaster of the Order himself was not considered a good thing, either he knew someone is betraying the king or a spy lurking around the political steps, feeding information to rival monarchs.

Bjorn’s face remained as stiff as stone and cold as ice while walking through the compound, watching the children grew with blades and axes instead of pencils and parchments. He even hear the children being taught the glorious things that the Nords do, although most of it were merely lies.

The scent of snow and the stone walls of the fortress accompanies Bjorn as he made his way to the Grandmaster’s office. The wooden door opened, and Bjorn stepped inside, looking at the various weapons the Grandmaster hang on his wall as trophies for dispatching the kingdom’s most notorious criminals and traitors.

“Ah, Bjorn,” the Grandmaster spoke while he flips over the pages of the Tome of Time – a book which records all historic events ever since the founding of Calradia until the last 15 decades. “Thank you for coming here,”

Bjorn bowed in response, “It was a message from the Order, especially from you – the Grandmaster himself,” he replied.

“I love your obedience, Captain Bjorn. But do you really obey everyone’s words? Especially the king?”

His words began to threaten Bjorn’s safety, as he begins to suspect the captain’s hatred towards the king. But Bjorn remained calm as to not show any physical signs that would display his nervousness to the Grandmaster. “I am certainly loyal and obedient to my king, Grandmaster,” Bjorn responded, keeping his stiff and stoic posture while remaining calm.

“Very well,” the Grandmaster said after he studied every bit of Bjorn’s movements, even to the smaller ones. “Now, there are a few things I needed you to do,”

Confused, Bjorn can’t help himself but wonder what was it and proceeded to ask, “What do you wish me to do, Grandmaster?”



The coarse sands of the deserts of Sarran became a constant reminder to the people of the land of its legends – where a band of knights stood against the burning demon known to them as Azga’al. But to Bjorn, these knights clashed swords with Halag, turning their iron armor black with its flames.

The people of the Sarranid called them the Legion of Scales, and some even hoped them to return – to purge their beloved sultanate from the clutches of fear, tyranny and oppression.

Further down the south lies the large wall that separated the Calradian settlers from the demons as well as the Horde. It is where the Order of the Immortal Sun stood vigilantly and raise their divine swords up high – serving for no one, answering no monarch except the true king of Calradia. Thus, these Suns waited for many years for a new monarch to lead them into battle.

But Bjorn’s mission was not to gaze upon the massive wall erected down the southern parts of the deserts. He is here to infiltrate the sultanate’s military rankings and weaken them from within by all means necessary – either by assassinating his targets or simply capture them to be tortured by the Grandmaster’s men.

He waited in Uhhun, a village near Uhhun Castle. He waited patiently for the lords of the sultanates to come and recruit more villagers for their pesky wars against the Khergit and Rhodoks. He waited for 5 days, and was recruited on the sixth to become a part of Emir Ghulassen’s army.

Now armed with a mere club and a shield with fur, he became a recruit, the lowest tier of the sultanate’s military ranks. On the first day becoming a part of the enemy’s army, he counted the number of men serving in the war. From a small band of 70 to one hundred the next day, gaining more men for weeks on end, gathering up to almost 200 men ready for battle.

Bjorn slowly rose through the ranks of the sultanate’s army all while secretly sending out reports to the Nordic kingdom with his observations. On his 97th day serving as a soldier, he and the rest of the army were stationed in Shariz – the capital of Hakim’s kingdom.

At night, while the other men of the army were present for a feast, Bjorn went to the corners of the city, with a parchment in his hand to be given to one of the spies sent by the king.

The man, dressed in clothes favored by the Sarranids, with turbans and long cloaks met Bjorn. The captain in disguise handed the report over and returned to his post immediately.

With a cup of fine Sarranid ale in his hand, he joined the men for the feast.

After spending 5 days in the city, feasting alongside the men of the Sultanate, they left for a campaign against the Rhodoks. Bjorn marched alongside the army, venturing into their territory. The Sarranids turned their attention towards Jamiche Castle and made their preparations to take it from Rhodoks hands.

Bjorn observed the castle’s defenders, he saw the banners of Count Etrosq who was there to defend the fortress from the Sarranids. But he was then surprised to see banners which carries the symbol of a black cross.

During his days spent as a part of the sultanate, he heard of a new mercenary band serving the Rhodoks – the Black Cross.

As hours flew by, their preparations for the siege have been done and the attackers prepared themselves for the oncoming battle. Emir Muhnir, Ghulassen and a few other lords joining the assault discussed their strategy in a camp.

The siege upon Jamiche Castle begins at the middle of the day, where the sun sits high up in the sky and watched down the men of Calradia fight over a castle. Bjorn heard the soldiers mumbling their prayers to their god and he thought of doing the same – even if he is just a spy, this battle could be his last.

Ghulassen’s roaring voice reached his men as the archers fired a massive volley of arrows upon the stone walls of the castle. A hundred arrows flew towards the defenders, some find their marks as the crossbowmen fell from their positions and down to the ground. It was a slaughter on both sides, the Rhodok Sergeants fought viciously while the Sarranid Guards stormed the castle walls with all their might, all while screaming, “For the Sultan!” as a war cry.

A battering ram was brought to the gates, some of the crossbowmen switched their attention to those approaching the gate itself and fired a volley of bolts upon the ram and its guards.

To Bjorn, it seemed like a desperate battle.  Once the gate falls, Ghulassen ordered the rest of the army to storm through the castle. Everything seemed lost for the defenders of Jamiche Castle as the Sarranids began pouring through the gates like water.

It was then they met with the newly founded mercenaries of the Black Cross, each wearing an armor almost identical to one another. An assortment of hired blades, mercenary swordsmen, sword sisters and others – ready to defend the castle for money. As the soldiers of the Sarranids pushed through the fallen gate, they immediately clashed with the forces of the Black Cross.

Armed with the equipment of a Sarranid Guard, Bjorn charged through the gate alongside the others and started to swing his spiked mace while his shield giving him protection from the arrows that rained from different directions.

The muffled sounds of the men roaring like barbarians fighting for their lives and for the Sultan reached Bjorn’s ears, the sound of swords clash and the haunting whistle of bolts and arrows kept the Nord’s grip upon the hilt of his sword tight. He felt fear, he felt death ready to grasp his soul at that very moment.

His breaths quicker, his eyes steady and his shield unbroken. He lets out a roar of his own as he bashed one of the Black Cross’ hired blades with his shields, dropping the poor bastard down to the ground and Bjorn drove his Sarranid sword down to the man’s heart.

Bjorn may felt fear, but it was the same thing that kept him alive. He charged through the lines, The mercenaries are weak, undisciplined. All they care is money and whores and the sweet taste of wine and ale. He thought to himself as he began fighting his way through the numerous mercenaries stationed at the castle. He hated mercenaries, he disliked most of them. To him, they were only vultures coming to the land to pluck on Calradia’s dying nations. The prospect of honor seems to have gone missing from them, it’s up to the true people of Calradia to uphold the ways of the old empire.

Another volley of arrows and bolts were fired atop the castle walls from its defenders. Bjorn managed to raise his shield in time to protect himself but from the fight against the mercenary troops have weakened the shield’s own durability. He could see the tips of these projectiles protruding from the back of the shield, knowing that it won’t be long until it was broken.

Then, a large bladed weapon struck the shield and shattered it into two pieces. A swing from an axe had finally broke it, leaving Bjorn with only his sword to defend himself. As he raised his eyes to face his opponent, he felt a sense of intimidation as his enemy wears a great helm to obscure his face and a plate armor which carries the symbol of the Black Cross on the man’s shoulder guards.

Bjorn took a deep breath and stared his enemy in the eye, charging forth like he was a raging Huscarl serving the Nordic jarls. The two fought almost equally, with the mercenary managed to dodge and parry some of Bjorn’s attacks while the Nord kept on pushing – with his rage and fear as a driving force in the fight.

As Bjorn attempted to stab the mercenary with his sword, his opponent grabbed it by the blade and with a clenched fist, knocking Bjorn at the side of his head. The Wolf stumbled a few steps back and took off his helm, dropping it to the ground as he regained his balance.

“As I thought, you don’t fight like a Sarranid,” the mercenary remarked, having seen Bjorn’s features. His eyes blue and his skin is white as the snow of the Nordic fields, “You’re a bloody Nord,” he continued, grinning underneath the full helm.

Bjorn raised his fists, his eyes staring into the man’s own. “It’s not like I have a choice,” he uttered under his breath.

The man dropped his axe and took off his helm, letting his brown hair loose and his green eyes look at Bjorn. “I admire your persistence Nord,” he said and raised his clenched fists as both of them locked eyes upon one another. A mercenary against a Nord. “Name’s Luther Ambrose. Leader of these mercenaries,”

Bjorn grinned, having the honor of meeting the leader of the Black Cross in a battle. “Bjorn,” he introduced himself.

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The Siege of Jamiche
 
Chapter 9: The Siege of Jamiche​

Luther Ambrose,
Jamiche Castle,
15th year of King Graveth’s rule of the Rhodoks,​

Jamiche Castle, one of the few fortresses located at the border between the Sultanate and the Kingdom of Rhodoks. No legends nor stories to its name, unlike the other castles such as Grunwalder Castle – but that would change at the Siege of Jamiche.

The Sultanate had amassed an army large enough to swallow a part of the kingdom whole, one that would shake the very earth with every step. Of blood and steel and sand, Hakim would give everything he had to offer to bring down the Rhodoks at all costs. It would seem that the castle would fall quite easily into Sarranid hands, but Hakim and his vassals thought wrong.

It was the flags of the Black Cross and the few lords of the kingdom that stood in their way. A mere 600 men against the might of almost 2000 soldiers prepared to die for the Sultan himself.

Luther and his men endured the fighting for almost three hours, launching a massive volley of arrows time after time to halt the progress of the Sultanate’s men. The enemy brought in a battering ram to bring down the gates but Luther is more than prepared to face this.

Hired blades waiting on the other side as the Sarranids rammed the fortress’ gates with each thunderous strike of the wooden ram. The archers above fired down arrows after arrow, crossbowmen picking off their targets but they were immediately replaced by another soldier to continue the attack upon the gate.

Luther went down and stood alongside his hired blades down at the castle’s courtyard, his axe in hand and gripped tightly. His eyes forward, waiting for the moment the besiegers storm through. “Shields!” he shouted and in an instant, his mercenaries lifted their large rectangular shields and formed an impenetrable wall of men.

THOOM!

Another strike at the gates, then another and another. The wooden doors blasts open with the final hit of the ram and soldiers of the Sultanate stormed through. The mercenaries managed to stopped them in their tracks with the formation.

The skies were littered with flying arrows and bolts, there is only the scent of blood and the sound of clashing steel. Luther looked upwards for a final time, hoping that he would find peace after the bloodshed. To hear the sound of birds chirping, the voices of bards playing their songs and children playing in the streets.

But now, it’s war. Luther lead his men into battle like how a leader should be. He swung his axe upon his enemies, splitting their skulls through their metallic helms and cut off their throats with a single swing of his weapon.

They drop like flies as the defenders fought valiantly, sending the enemy to their deaths.

Another of the Sarranid infantry charged at Luther. He raised his two handed battle axe and swung towards the man’s abdomen, breaking his shield and through his armor, instantly killing the Sarranid with a single hit.

Blood dripped down the edge of his axe’s blade, his mind is clear of anything but to survive and relieve the moments of peace. He wanted to be free, but instead shackled by the chains of conflict that is Calradia itself. His eyes caught the sight of a Sarranid Guard, fighting as if he weren’t a Sarranid.

His swings are of full strength, unlike the others Luther had slain before. His roars are that of a raging beast, much like the ones who hailed from the North. Yet, Luther took a few steps forward and charged towards this Guard.

He raised his axe and shattered the shield the man was carrying. The Guard lunges forward with his sword aimed straight for his heart but Luther grabbed it, hitting the man with his fists and sending him stumbling backwards.

The man took off his helm and Luther immediately knew his instincts was right – he was a Nord fighting within the Sarranid’s military. He voiced out his thoughts and introduced himself, dropping his axe and helm as he faced the man named Bjorn.

The two dueled with their fists. With Bjorn had the upper hand with his natural strength as a Nord, Luther was pushed back to a wall and find himself pinned against it. The Nord kept on delivering punches after punches, with Luther raising both of his arms to shield himself.

The mercenary hits the Nord with his knee, followed by a strike from his elbow to the man’s head. Unsurprisingly, Bjorn didn’t fall unconscious just like any normal men would in a brawl. Luther grabbed a dropped shield and slammed it towards Bjorn’s head, knocking him out cold for the rest of the battle.



Five hours have passed since the beginning of the assault upon Jamiche castle. The numbers of the Sarranid’s armies dwindle by each passing hour as the defending forces managed to outmatch their opponent with everything at their disposal. Thousands dead, hundreds of them carrying the flags of the Rhodoks and the Black Cross. It was a bloody battle indeed, one that would make Jamiche Castle a legend for being able to withstand the might of an entire Sultanate.

Prisoners were taken, the dead bodies of soldiers were sent back to their families. There is no moment of grief, no moment to shed tears for the fallen as there is no time during war.

“How many are alive?” asked Luther as he stood right beside Lezalit upon the walls of Jamiche, looking over at the corpse-littered field beyond the castle. His arms crossed as his eyes scanned through the landscape and shifted his gaze down to the courtyard as he looked at carts were loaded with the dead.

“Just more than 100 of the Black Cross survived the assault. We’ve dealt the Sultanate a deadly blow, faced a massive force larger than the Army of Wolves that attacked Dhirim weeks ago,” Lezalit replied as he recalled the events that transpired upon the Swadian city. “We’re going to need more men if we have to fight the Sultanate again,”

“True,” Luther replied as he went down the walls and towards the prison guard.

The leader of the Black Cross entered the prison, going through each cell as they were filled with the prisoners they’ve caught after the siege. Some voiced their hatred as Luther passed by, but he doesn’t care about their words nor their thoughts about him and the kingdom he served.

His armor clanked at every step, his eyes fixed towards a cell right at the end of the corridor. He saw less and lesser men as he went further down the dungeons, stopping as he reached at the end. “I have a few questions for you,” he spoke out.

“Speak,” Bjorn’s voice was as clear as crystal as there are no signs of weakness in the way he speaks. The Nord stood up from his cell, chains shackled around his hands and feet. His body were bruised on different places, scars visible on his arms and his back – a testament to how long he has been involved in war.

Luther stood there with his looking at every detail of Bjorn’s wounds, trying to find as many information as he can without asking anything. The Nord’s scars tell him much more, “Why are you fighting for the Sarranids?” the first question left Luther’s mouth.

“As I’ve said before. It’s not like I have a choice,” the Nord answered as he sat down with his back against the cold stone wall of his cell.

Luther crossed his arms, looking down at the prisoner in front of him. “Are you a spy?”

Bjorn remained silent, his lips stiff and unmovable. Silence followed the conversation between the two, “That’s none of your concern, mercenary,”

“So, you’re loyal to Ragnar? I see,”

The Nord stood up at the second Luther mentioned the king’s name. There was an unseen rage and hatred emanating from the way Bjorn stands and looked at Luther in the eye, “I am loyal to the Nords and of Calradia itself,” he replied.

The leader of the mercenaries curled his lips into a smile, he was expecting something different, one that would scream out loyalty to the king but instead, an undying devotion to the old empire. “You’re an interesting fellow,” he adds. “Very well, I shall send you back to the Nords,”

“Heh, they must have thought I am dead during the siege,” Bjorn scoffed, looking down at his injuries that were littered across his body. “It’s better this way,”

“It’s more than obvious that you hated the Nord king,”

“Why would I serve a monarch that hungers for violence and the sweet songs of glory? I have seen children indoctrinated to become loyal to their king, men and women working endlessly without sleep to craft weapons and armor for the kingdom that is the Nords?” Bjorn expressed his thoughts. His hatred for the king isn’t an empty one without reason, he sees what Ragnar has done to keep the Nords loyal to him. To keep their armies strong. “All while forgetting that there is something much worse,”

Luther raised an eyebrow at Bjorn’s words. He was confused, intrigued. “What do you mean, by something much worse?”

“I believe there’s something coming. Something that would devour the land of Calradia whole with its armies,” the prisoner answered. “This land has seen enough war, ripe for any forces outside Calradia to take over with ease unless there’s someone brave enough and oppose the kingdoms,”

“You speak of the new Emperor,”

“We needed one. Without a leader to unite us all, without someone to put aside our differences, Calradia would fall into its darkest times. Why do you think that the Order of the Immortal Sun never left their walls out there in the deserts?” Bjorn leaned against the cells, explaining what the world desperately needs after decades of unending war.

Luther remained silent, unable to find the answer to Bjorn’s question. Why do the knights of the Immortal Sun never left their sacred walls if there’s nothing out there to destroy the land? For decades, for centuries, these knights never left their posts. Luther looked down at Bjorn, hoping to find the answer.

“They’re waiting for the Exiled,” the Nord answered.

The Exiled are considered the most evil enemy that the land has to face. Its existence faded into legends. The old Scholars spoke of the dead lived again, demons of fire and blood and steel leading its armies to bring upon the doom of Calradia and its people.

Luther remained standing, shocked at the answer he was given by Bjorn. But as he was about to speak another word, his presence was needed by Etrosq and the other who have gathered at the castle.

The mercenary leader left the prison, his mind still filled with the revelation. He tried to push the thought of facing an unstoppable, demonic army away into the depths of his mind and kept on walking to where the lords were gathered. Lies. He thought to himself. Things like that would never exist.

As he reached at the entrance of the room he was supposed to be in, his ears the voices of lords discussing the current matter at hand.

“ – crushed! If we don’t strike now, the Sultanate would have returned with a force much larger than before. This time, it was two thousand men. The next? Perhaps eight thousand? 10,000?”

“But we can’t risk our kingdom if we are about to attack them. It would leave our lands vulnerable to their armies! Jelkala, Veluca, Yalen, all of it would fall into their hands!”

Luther saw the lords of the Rhodoks gathered around a large rectangular table, with King Graveth at the end of the hall, sitting upon a throne made for the lord of the castle.

He hears them arguing like children, discussing whether they should be on the offensive or stay within their lands and defend their villages, castles and towns. Luther kept on listening.

“If we don’t strike now Your Majesty, the kingdom would suffer greatly and gain nothing. Our spears and axes, swords and arrows shall pierce through their heart! Our armies have been trained for one purpose – to fight for the kingdom itself! We have dealt the Sultanate a massive blow and we must seize the opportunity to strike back,” Raichs’ voice echoes through the room.

A few other voices followed, others supporting Raichs’ suggestion to strike the Sultanate while they’re vulnerable while a small portion of the lords wishes to defend their lands instead.

“You will plunge our kingdom into destruction!”

“Rhodoks will not fall!” Graveth spoke out. Silence followed. Luther looked at the king, feeling a cold presence as soon as he laid his eyes upon the leader of the kingdom. There is an intimidating aura emanating from him, one that reeks of war and bloodshed. But at the same time, Luther felt Graveth is different from the kings that he had served before.

The lords remained silent as the king speaks. Luther sees that they aren’t silent because they fear him but they respect him. In his mind, Graveth must have sacrificed a lot to gain the trust of his nobles and more so to gain the favor of his subjects. For 15 years, the king had dedicated a portion of his life to serve the country instead of himself – unlike the other sovereign rulers of the land who wishes to terrorize the lands and to “unite” them under a single banner.

His voice radiates with such anger and fury yet his expression contrasts his words. Graveth was calm and composed despite being in a situation where the lords would bicker over a simple matter – to attack or to defend. “Our kingdom will not fall, shattered under the heels of its enemies,” the king continued as he stood up from his throne.

“For decades our kingdom lies in a land torn apart by war and do we ever falter?” Graveth’s voice echoes through the room. His fists clenched as he slammed them onto the table.

“NO!” they shouted.

“Our shields are as strong as iron, our might is as great as the mountains that surrounds our very nation! Those Sarranids have made the worst mistakes of their lives by invading our lands, and we will show them the consequences of invading the land of the Rhodoks!”

The halls boom with the voices of the lords cheering and shouting, supporting the words of the king. Then they chant the words, “For Rhodoks!”. It was clear to Luther that the lords that gathered here are loyal to their kingdom just as they are loyal to their king.

As the voices died down, silence followed as the lords waits for the king’s words. They waited for an order, “We will attack them,” Graveth ordered. “Bring the might of the mountains of Jelkala into the deserts of Sarran, we will attack them,”

Etrosq, the acting marshal at the time nodded, “Of course, Your Majesty. We will assemble an army of elite troops immediately,” then he left the room to send messengers to all lords of the Rhodoks that the order has been given.

It is time to attack the Sultanate at its heart.
 
Interesting siege of Jamiche, I like how narration adding depth to description of a siege. Keep on works, dude
 
Chapter 10: Of Lions And Wolves​

Deckard Winters,
The outskirts of Veidar,
8th year of Harlaus’ reign on the Swadians,​

The Sultanate declares war upon the kingdom of the Rhodoks. A bold move by the Sultan himself to fight on two fronts – against the Khergits and the fiercesome Rhodoks army. But Deckard worries for something else, the Nord hasn’t made a move yet since the attack on Dhirim two weeks before other than raiding villages to weaken the armies of the Swadians.

He led the Crimson Rose on a patrol around Praven and its surrounding villages, only to encounter several bandits and looters that dared to cross their paths. For a few days, they have seen no enemies. A good sign perhaps?

“It’s been a while since the Nords attacked us,” Jeremus noted as he rode alongside Deckard with a newly equipped armor purchased from the armor merchants of Suno.

Deckard looked at his surroundings before taking out a map of the land itself, showing the location of villages and cities occupied by the different warring factions of Calradia. “Maybe they have given up on fighting us?” he asked Jeremus, keeping his eyes on the map in his hands.

“No,” the surgeon replied with a tone that illustrates his worries, his fear for something much worse. “The Nords never give up so easily, I’m thinking that they are preparing for another attack. One that would cripple Swadia for eternity and leave its lords vulnerable,”

“We must not let it happen then,” the foreigner rolled the map back and puts it in his bag. Indeed, Deckard had just arrived on the land for less than a year and it’s as if he arrived on Calradia during one of its most desperate times.

The mercenaries of the Crimson Rose continued on with their patrol, from Veidar to Iyindah, Ruluns to Ibiran. For days they continued on their watchful duties while recruiting more abled men into their ranks. Deckard managed to muster a force of 200 strong, comprised of the brave Swadian Knights, Sergeants and the Sharpshooters alongside some mercenary bands recruited from the taverns.

Then they went over to Veidar once more, marching through the woods and hills to patrol the countryside. The winds were peaceful and cold, the grass rustles as the soldiers marched and carrying the banners of the Rose. Deckard kept his eyes peeled for the sign of the enemy and soon finds himself in a desperate situation.

He saw the blue banners of the Nords rising from a distant hill, followed by hundreds of men marching and singing the songs of war. Jeremus estimated that there are about 400 men ready for battle on the enemy’s side, each ready to raise their axes, swords and bows in a heartbeat.

The marching stopped as the full army of the Nords came into view, Deckard gestured to the Rose to began forming ranks as a preparation for the coming battle. As they carried out his orders, the Praevorian heard the voice of a Jarl, “Leader of the Crimson Rose!” the Nord shouted, his voice is as clear and loud as if he was standing near them. “Yield! We outnumbered your forces, mercenary and there is no hope for victory if you wish to fight!”

Deckard realized it was Aeric. One of the many lords who served under Ragnar’s rule. He was offering him a chance to surrender, one that would save the lives of his men but not his honor. He turned around, looking at Jeremus before shifting his gaze towards his men.

The soldiers of the Rose are eager, ready to bring on the might of the Swadians. They indeed felt fear, but they have faith. “We’re ready on your word, Deckard,” Jeremus spoke out.

“Just say the word boss!”

“Yeah let’s chase them back to their cold lands!”

The words of his men lifted his spirits. If they have faith in him, why wouldn’t he? He drew out his sword and his men began slamming their shields with their weapons in rhythm. “You expect us to yield?!” Deckard replied. “We will fight you to the end!”

Aeric clenched his jaw and spit upon the ground, “So be it. Defend yourself!” he raised his axe to the air and his army chants.

“Au! Au! Au!” they shouted. Repeating those words as the huscarls raised their shields to their bodies and began a slow advance down the hills. Aeric gestured to his archers to draw and fire at the enemy.

Deckard ordered his infantrymen to do the same. With their shields raised and spirits unbroken, they advance. Their shields block the hundred arrows that whistled through the air, some only grazed their helmets as they march upon the green fields. As the huscarls are getting nearer, the infantrymen of Deckard’s mercenary company stopped in their tracks and began forming a impenetrable shield wall. Shoulder to shoulder, each soldier of the formation supported each other to create a line of men that are nearly unbreakable.

The huscarls charged with their axes, letting out a terrifying roar as they raised their weapons and sprint cross the fields. Some threw their axes towards their enemy before clashing with the Rose.

At that moment, all thoughts of glory and fame are gone. Everything descended into chaos the moment their blades met, huscarls and Sergeants exchanging blow after blow. Archers from both sides of the battle firing volleys of deadly arrows whistling through the air in a terrifying song of death.

Deckard charged in alongside the massive force of Swadian Knights at his disposal. Their horses, heavily armored enabled them to withstand numerous blows while kept on charging, breaking through the enemy’s flanks while the knights themselves swung their swords and striking with their spears on top of their steed.

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But the huscarls gave their all, striking the Knights down while halted in their tracks was nothing more than a child’s play. They fought brutally, like a raging monster that came straight out from a storyteller’s mouth. They struck their enemies with an inconceivable rage, fearless and ruthless to the end.

The soldiers of the Rose won’t back down so easily. They have done the unthinkable, fighting in a battle that outnumbered them in three to one. A battle that would most likely ended in a crushing defeat for the Swadians and a total victory for the Nords. If the men of the north gave their all, why won’t they?
As Deckard fought alongside his men, his horse was shot down by the veteran archers of the Nord army. Throwing him off him off his horse, forcing the Praevorian to fight without a steed.

A few of the huscarls charged at him, Deckard drew out his sword and strike back with all his might. Stabbing one in the gut before dispatching a second one with a quick slice to the throat. A third one approaches and swung his massive axe towards Winters.

Thanks to the Praevorian’s quick reflexes, he raised his sword quick enough to block the huscarl’s powerful strike. The two exchanged blows, parrying and dodging their every move before the leader of the Rose took the opportunity to cut off one of the man’s arm and drove his sword deep into the man’s neck.

It was chaos, the lush green fields on the outskirts of Veidar were stained with crimson red and scattered with hundreds of soldiers. Each of them dying for an idea, for their respective kings, ideals and even gold. For the huscarls, dying a glorious death would mean that they have saved a place in the halls of the fallen warriors in the afterlife. A good reason why they fought valiantly, brutally and to their last breaths.

The battle rages on, with the number of soldiers on each sides dwindles as time passes by. Deckard and Aeric soon faced against one another on the fields. Without a word to be uttered, their swords shall do the talking between the two leader of armies.

Aeric strike first with his battle axe as Deckard raised his weapon in time to block it. The Griffin pushed the Jarl away from him, only for Aeric to vault back at him with full force, swinging his axe as he aimed for Deckard’s neck.
The Praevorian ducked just in time as he narrowly avoided a brutal death by beheading. He swung his sword upwards and hits the Jarl’s arm but as exhaustion crept into his whole body like poison, Deckard didn’t have much strength mustered to cut off Aeric’s arm.

The blood on the sword’s grip made it slippery and with Deckard’s last swing, it slipped off his hands, leaving him vulnerable and helpless. Aeric hits him in the head using the blunt side of his axe, causing the man to stumble a few steps back before falling down on the ground with his back against a corpse.

Aeric raised his weapon as he approached Deckard and strikes down, only for the Griffin to avoided the deathly blow once again by rolling away. The blade of the Jarl’s axe now embedded in the flesh of a fallen soldier – be it Nord or the Rose’s own.

Without a moment to hesitate, Deckard picked up a military hammer laying down on the ground struck Aeric’s head with full force, sending the man backwards and took off his helm. He swings it one more time, knocking the Jarl unconscious as he fell on the ground.

The Griffin looked down as he dropped the hammer in his hand, observing at the battlefield as he sees the banners of the Rose and Aeric’s flutter against the warm winds of dusk. He saw the huscarls and the rest of the army yielded after they have witnessed Aeric’s defeat at the hands of the Praevorian himself.

Deckard clenched his fist and raised it to the air, declaring that the battle as a decisive victory. A victory which came with a cost.

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Although there were Nords that survived the battle, Deckard chose the option of letting them go before giving the fallen a proper burial and sending their possessions to their families.

None of the Rose’s men routed, even the recruits didn’t flinch at the brutality that is the Battle of Veidar Fields. The stench of rotting flesh lingers in the air as the members of the Crimson Rose marched towards the nearest city of Praven, bringing along Aeric as a prisoner.

Word about his victory against a Nordic Jarl spread across the Swadian lands, hailing the Rose as a defender of the realm. The commoners speak of a band of brave warriors, charging through the supposedly invincible Nords. The bards sang their songs of the mercenaries as if they were a part of a legend. Deckard and his men were renowned just as equally as any other lord.

With Aeric remained imprisoned deep within the cold dungeons of Praven, Harlaus was able to exchange captive lords with the Nords. But the nation of the northern lands would not back down so easily, with every defeat there comes a glorious victory. They attacked the villages, besieging vulnerable castles with a vast army in an attempt to weaken the armies of the Lion.

As Deckard marched alongside his armies to the villages and the nearby cities, he gazed upon the destruction that the Nords had left behind. The smell of burning wood and flesh lingers in the air as the Rose looked at the remains of a prosperous village. He saw corpses of the men, women and even children who were tried to escape the horrors brought upon by the Nords.

Even during his time serving the Howling Griffins back in Praevor, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread and grief for the fallen. These innocents were victims of war, caught between the conflict of two sovereign nations.

He came to Calradia to find the killer of his father but instead, he finds himself entangled in the wars that have plagued the nations for decades. All for the throne of the old empire.

Deckard shook his head as he rode past through the destruction, silently wishing for the end of the war between Swadia and the Nords. But he soon realized that the peace won’t last, noting that the nations would continue to wage war upon one another without end until one of their monarchs would be crowned the Emperor of Calradia.

He turned to Jeremus, “How long does this land has been involved in war? Ever since I came here not long time ago, all I ever heard was the seemingly never-ending conflict between the kingdoms of the land,”

The medical expert sighed and dropped his head before turning to Deckard. “Calradia has always been like this since the death of the old emperor. Always bickering, always threatening war. All for the idea of ruling as the supreme ruler of all six nations,” he answered.

The mercenary leader could do nothing but listen to his words as Jeremus explained to him what is the cause of all the bloodshed. How the empire fell, how the Vaegirs and Nords came from the mountains and from the seas, how the Khergits made their way into the land and settled in the steppes and even how the Sultanate became what it is today. “Becoming the unifier of Calradia has become nothing more than just a myth, my friend. For all these years, the kings have never managed to defeat one another. They have a fair share of crushing and humiliating defeats, but crushing an entire nation is almost impossible,” he continued.

“Loyalties shift as the lords of the nations switching sides like it was nothing. Of course, the kings have no problem of accepting new vassals in his kingdom as long as he had land to spare. After all, some of these lords are just nobles by name, without a shred of honor and dignity,” Jeremus explained. “I believe if someone would want to unite all the nations, there must be a common goal – whether it’s against an enemy or something else entirely,”

Deckard listened carefully and remained silent as it seems quite impossible for someone like him to stop all the wars that have ravaged Calradia. But if he were to do just that, he would need a plan – a solid plan
 
Thank you once again! :grin:

The screenshots are just a way for me to illustrate what happened during that scene. I only used one in game character to capture the screenshots but this'll be used to "bring" the scenes to "life".

I have plans to introduce a familiar faction from another mod in the next few chapters. I really love this particular mod and I wanted to integrate its world into the story.
 
Arnulf Floyd 说:
Which another mod? Pendor? Perisno or other major mod?
点击展开...

Most likely Pendor. I have tried to play Perisno but my game crashed as soon as I entered the world map :neutral:
 
Chapter 11: New Beginnings​

Bjorn Wolfhunt,
The city of Tulga,
8th year of Sanjar Khan’s reign on the Khergits,​

The former captain of the guardsmen of Sargoth now became a prisoner of the Rhodoks, now under the watchful gaze of King Graveth’s men as he marched alongside his army to the territory of the Khergits – the steppe dwellers, fearsome horsemen of the mountains behind the nation of the Vaegirs. A nation ruled by Sanjar Khan.

But before Bjorn was sold to a ransom broker, the king of the Rhodoks came to him at one night, offering him a chance to become free of the shackles bind to him by the Nords. “Bjorn, isn’t it?” Graveth spoke to him as he went to the Nord warrior, chained and robbed of his strength after weeks of surviving with eating nothing but scraps and leftovers given by the soldiers.

Bjorn lifted his eyes from the ground as he sat upon the dirt. He sees the king and two other men who donned an armor he had never seen before, he would guess that they are two of the most elite Rhodok Sergeants but he was wrong. “What is it that you need?” he answered.

One of the armored guards grabbed Bjorn by the hair, lifting the Nord by the ground before Graveth gestured to him to release the former captain. “I’m sorry, forgive my guards. They are…overprotective of me,”

Bjorn spits, “Unsurprising to say the least since you are the king after all,” he responded.

“Indeed,” the king lifted his hand and his guards took a few steps back before they promptly left Graveth’s side. “Luther of the Black Cross told me that you were formidable as an opponent, fiercely loyal to your liege and – “

Bjorn stood up and pointed at the king’s breastplate, “I am loyal to the Nords. Its king have ravaged its people, turning the kingdom into a war machine. Day and night, the Nords worked tirelessly without end, sending their sons and husbands to war while some of them never returned. Ragnar seeks war,” he said, voicing out his hatred for the current king of the Nords. His eyes burned with the same fire that has been flickering within him for a while, fueled only by his hate and passion towards serving the true Nordic ways.

“Ah, I see. The Calradians knew that Ragnar is dangerous just as the other kings, even the other nations would think the same as me. But him and Hakim are the land’s most dangerous enemies yet,” Graveth said, putting one hand on Bjorn’s shoulder. “I am here to offer you a chance, young Nord,”

The former captain raised an eyebrow, one part of him seems intrigued yet confused as to what the king is trying to say. “A chance for what?”

“A chance for you to be free of Ragnar’s iron grasp. Stand by my side as one of my trusted men and in time, we will defeat them. We can change their ways to save its people. Maybe one day, we can even unite the land and end this conflict once and for all,” the king looked at him in the eye. There are no signs of lies and deceit in his words nor in his eyes. Graveth’s voice told Bjorn of a chance of saving the Nords from Ragnar, a way to save the people from the consequence of war and bloodshed.

A way to save the kingdom.

“Take your time to think of a decision,” the king puts away his hand from Bjorn’s shoulder, taking a step back. “Think of it, Nord,” Graveth walked away from Bjorn and disappeared into the camps before making his way to the castle halls in Tulga.



medieval_town_by_joakimolofsson-d52p25s.jpg

The dark streets of Tulga​

Meanwhile, as Bjorn still shackled and imprisoned with Graveth’s army, the king sets foot into the heart of the city. The wary eyes of the Khergit guardsmen lingered upon him and his two terrifying knights as Graveth walked through the streets. He stopped at the castle gates before it was lifted up once by the order of the Khan himself.

The castle was built out of stone bricks and decorated with artifacts brought in from their previous homeland before the Khergits were pushed out by the Great Horde. Graveth observed these precious relics as he took his steps towards the end of the hall. The king saw Sanjar, looking at an ancient sword of the previous Khans.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” Sanjar spoke out as he notices Graveth approaching him with his two guards.

The king of the Rhodoks nodded, “Indeed they are, how goes the war?” he asked before gesturing to his two knights to stand by the castle doors, waiting for the next order.

Sanjar sighed as he walked away from the sword, “Bad,” he uttered. “We have lost Ichamur months ago to the Sultanate and since then it has been heavily defended by those damned bastards. I heard Hakim declared war upon your people?”

“Yes, he did. He made a terrible decision by doing so. He sent one of the largest force the land has seen upon Jamiche Castle but with the strength of our people, we have pushed them back into their deserts,” Graveth recalled. The Siege of Jamiche is indeed a historical moment to be witnessed by himself and to be told across the land, crushing a force of two thousand strong is no small feat.

The two kings walked around the castle, discussing things that a king should do. The war between the Sultanate has been difficult. Even fighting at two fronts, Hakim managed to give two of the most powerful nations a difficult time.
“Surely, that ‘boy’ has something more in store for us isn’t it?” Graveth spoke out.

“We both knew his father but as soon as Hakim ascended to the throne, there have been a lot of changes to the Sarranids’ military ways,” the Khan replied. “In four years, Hakim managed to push the country into a revolution of sorts. In turn, he had wealth that would rival ours,”

Graveth went silent, the memories of him and the previous Sultan of the Sarranids still lingered in his mind. There were alliances forged between the two nations, trade agreements signed for years on end. There were no signs of conflict during the time of Hakim’s father. But as the current Sultan became the ruler of the Sarranids, things changed quite drastically.

The two kept on walking around the palace before they stopped at a tower which overlooked the city of Tulga. The serene atmosphere of the night paired with the busyness of the streets below gave life to the Khergit city. The two kings looked down, taking in the peace that are rarely seen in the land.

“My spies have reported that Hakim is attempting to employ a mercenary company to aid him in the war,” Graveth spoke out, snapping himself out of the memories of the old days – things have changed, he must do the same as well.
Sanjar turned to him, with his arms folded. “Do you have any idea who it’ll be? Hegen’s Knights? Konrad’s Highlanders?”

The king kept his eye on the streets, “According to the reports, Hakim is going to hire one that hailed far from Calradia,” he replied, with a tone that displays his troublesome thoughts that plagued his mind as he recalled what his spies have reported him.

Sanjar listened carefully, noticing the shift in tone of Graveth’s voice. It tells him of a dangerous enemy, coming upon the shores of Calradia soon enough. “Who are they?”

“The Forlorn Hope,”



Bjorn survived for another few weeks remained in custody of the Rhodoks while being held in Jelkala’s dungeons. There hasn’t been a single day that he thought of joining Graveth’s side to save the Nords. Each day and night, his thoughts remained on his people. He thought of his family, his fellow guardsmen and others.

Until one day, he stopped thinking of it. Bjorn had finally made a decision. He stood up from his cell and grabbed the cold iron bars with his hands, looking at the entrance of the hallway. “Anyone there?!” he called out.

Bjorn heard nothing but his voice echoed in the silence of the empty prison. The rest of the captured soldiers were sold to the brokers and only he was left remained in the cells.

It was dark, only the light of the torches illuminated the hallways. It was silent, only the sound of the crackling fire can be heard and the sound of his breaths. Bjorn took a deep breath and called out once again, again and again until a guard showed up.

Bjorn took a few steps back as the guard approached his cell. The guard remained silent with a torch of his own carried in one of his hands. The Nord look into the guard’s eyes, they were almost the ones possessed by a dead man’s, cold and without emotion.

The door to Bjorn’s cell creaked as the guard opened it, “What is happening?” the former captain of the guardsmen asked.

Silence was Bjorn’s answer. The guard said nothing as he freed the Nord from the shackles that binds him to the dungeons of Jelkala before grabbing one his arms, pulling him towards the entrance. “Your time is here,” the guard spoke out.

As Bjorn is escorted outside the dungeons, he began noticing that the citizens are running towards a direction. But there were no sounds of fighting, no sounds of destruction and death. He looked up, seeing only the blue skies above his head as there were no smoke or fire rising from the streets.

The guard lead him to Graveth as the king stands in his throne room, looking outside the balcony with his arms behind him. “Ah, you are here. Splendid,”

“What is happening?” Bjorn asked, confused. He heard the sound of cheering and the voices of the musicians singing the songs of glory and honor outside the palace.

Graveth gestured to him to come over his side as he kept his eyes upon the streets below. “We have mustered an army large enough to strike the Sultanate at its heart. Sergeants, Sharpshooters, horsemen from across the land have pledged their loyalty to the Rhodoks,” he said, looking at the people down below as they cheered. “Our march begins today,”

Bjorn looked at the vast number of soldiers formed up in lines. He saw the spears of the Rhodoks’ best spearmen pointed towards the clouds, how they held their large shields in their hands as if they are ready to die for the king. He saw the people cheered and scatter flower petals to the soldiers as if these men are their only hope.

He looked at Graveth, “I have made a decision,” Bjorn paused, regaining his composure as he stood straight to face the king. “I shall fight at your side,”

The king turned to the Nord, his lips curled into a smile as he puts up a hand on Bjorn’s shoulder. “Splendid, young man. As I have expected of you but be warned, your days of fight by my side would be much more difficult than your days as a soldier of the Nords,”

“How so? I am still just a soldier,”

“You’ll understand soon enough, Bjorn Wolfhunt. However, you are no longer a soldier but as my executioner. Carry out my orders and bring back peace to the lands. In time, we will crush the Nords and unite them under our rule. There will be peace once more,” said the king to his newly appointed executioner. “Now, go get your equipment from the armory. My men had it prepared for this occasion,”

Bjorn was…speechless. Once a captain of the guardsmen of Wercheg and now, he was the executioner of the king. One who carried out the will of the monarch upon the land. A duty that came to him almost like a blessing, something that is too good to be true.

Graveth’s guard lead Bjorn to the armory where the blacksmiths have prepared an armor ready to be worn by him. It was a silver ornate plate armor, its shoulder pads are etched with symbols that are probably originated from the old Calradic language. Its helmet covered Bjorn’s face, with a golden cross painted across the helm.

As he straps on the new armor, he felt much heavier than it used to be. After all, Nordic armor are known to be lighter than anywhere else upon the land. But he soon realized that his new duty as the king’s executioner have its consequences and he himself didn’t know if Graveth had made the right choice of declaring him as the one that would carry out his orders.

Only half an hour later, the king of the Rhodoks rode side by side with his large army with Bjorn as well. The Nord heard the people uttered words of surprise as if they knew that a man from a rival kingdom had become one of the most important figures in the kingdom.

As Bjorn rode alongside Graveth, the king began explaining the duties of an executioner to the Nord. How it was different than becoming a noble of the kingdom. Being an executioner is no easy task, he carries out the will of the current monarch which Graveth intends to bring back peace among all the nations, defeating the Nords has become his top priority.

“You are allowed to raise an army of your own,” the king spoke out. “As long as you carry out my will – that is to unite the land, your army shall remain under your command for as long as you wish,”

Bjorn is more than delighted. His dream of saving the Nords is slowly becoming a reality. He needed an army to save the kingdom and its people, even if he can’t rule as a monarch, he can unite the Nordic lands under Rhodoks rule. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity, my liege. It is time for me to make my preparations for future plans to save the Nords,”

“Yes but our current objective is to push the Sarranids further into the desert. If possible, eliminating them from the land is very much a preferable outcome,” Graveth responded, with intentions of keeping Bjorn’s mind focused on the current matters that the kingdom is facing.

They marched. They marched from Jelkala to the hills beyond Jamiche and into the scorching deserts of Sarran where the Sultanate reigned supreme. They marched through day and night without end until they have reached the capital of the Sarranids themselves – Shariz.

As they arrived, Graveth and Bjorn looked upon the army of the Rhodoks that have been gathered here. Hundreds of banners flutter against the wind as the engineers began making preparations for the siege.

A thousand soldiers stand ready, holding their spears close to their heart as they gaze upon the large walls of Shariz. The cold night winds of the desert blew towards the army and touched their skin like a mother’s touch. They wait, waiting for an order by the marshal of the realm.

The king and his executioner head towards the camp to gather alongside the lords of Rhodoks as they began strategizing a way to win the battle. Bjorn saw Count Etrosq, acting as the marshal of the entire Rhodoks army. He looked at his surroundings, noticing that the leader of the Black Cross also present at the battle.

“How much longer do we have to wait?” Tribidan speaks.

“Another 3 hours then we are ready to assault the walls, how many men do we have? I’d estimate around a thousand, even if it’s slightly smaller than the one the Sarranid bastards sent against us at Jamiche,” Etrosq replied.

Luther scoffed as he crossed his arms, smirking as he looked at the lords. “That would be a huge blow to their dignity if they sent two thousand men to attack a castle and failed while we have only less than that and attacked a city with us succeeding in the end,”

The lords laughed. “Indeed,” Raichs responded. “But that is…if we succeed,”

“We will win this battle!” Bjorn stepped forward and the lords looked at him with surprise. “Shariz will fall into Rhodoks hands,”

The noblemen of Rhodoks looked at each other and confused before all of them stared at their king, “Who is this man, my king?”

“He is the Executioner, the one who would bring peace to our land torn apart by turmoil,” Graveth answered. The look on the lords’ faces remained surprised and in shock, a few of them seemed confused as well.

Etrosq gulped before he cracked a smile on his face, “It’s about time we had one. Your Majesty has made a good decision. After many generations, we have a new Executioner of the King,”

Bjorn remained silent. Through their words it seemed like he wasn’t the first man to become the executioner but rather, a new one.

Three hours passed by and it was almost midnight by the time the Rhodoks had finished their preparations. The soldiers fell into formations, the crossbowmen loaded their bolts and the spearmen held up their shields. It was time.

The catapults were loaded, hurling massive boulders engulfed flames towards the city walls. Some hit the top of the wall and shattered one of many archer spots of the wall, while a few of them missed and instead destroyed buildings that are behind the fortifications.

The Sarranid archers fired arrows in retaliation and so does the crossbowmen of the Rhodoks. Siege towers were pushed closer towards the walls and a battering ram was ready to approach the gates.

Bjorn witnessed everything, it was the beginning of the attack on the Sarranids.

The Fall of Shariz begins.



AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry if there hasn't been much screenshots for this chapter and sorry again if this seemed rushed. There's not much to go on for this chapter except the discussion between Graveth and Sanjar and the march to Shariz.

Regarding the lack of screenshots, I can't find any good scenes for Tulga so I have to find something online. Although I have been preparing lots of screenshots for future chapters but those without action and such won't have much screenies as it used to.

Also, let's see if you can get the reference. :3
 
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