AAR: Symphony of Calradia (C35!)

[ArnulfFloyd]

Good chapter. I like Mettenheim reference because I play Pendor allright now

 

[Stormfall_03]

Chapter 12: The Assault​

Luther Ambrose,
The siege of Shariz,
15th year of Graveth’s reign on the Rhodoks,​

The flames eat away the wooden structures of the city as piles of smoke rises from the city. The streets went silent as the people of the city have been evacuated well before the assault began, heading their way to Durquba as the Rhodoks launched the attack.

Luther remained at the front lines as he and his men raised their shields after being bombarded by thousands of arrows at once. “Testudo!” in an instant, the sound of horns boomed to send out orders to the rest of the Black Cross company.

They stood closer to one another as they formed up the tortoise formation. Shields were raised up high and those who are in the middle lifted it to above their heads protect the rest of the men from arrows raining down like a deadly storm.

The soldiers slowly marched forward with the unbreakable shield formation managed to protect most of the men from enemy fire. Crossbowmen fired in retaliation as some of them marched alongside the box of shields.

As the company reached the walls, the ladders did the same. In an instant, they break their formation and stormed up the walls. But the archers did not waver, each arrow find their mark as soldiers of the Cross dropped down the ladders like flies.

The infantrymen of the Black Cross soon stormed the walls as they reached to the top, killing the archers that defended Shariz. Luther pulled out his sword and charged through an archer nest with a few of the Rhodok Sergeants following closely from behind. He stabbed one right in the gut, his sword easily pierced through their armor like it was nothing. He turned, looking at three of the archers charged at him – one of which is a Master-ranked. Luther deflected one of the strikes lunged at him before swiftly cutting the man’s throat. The second one did the same, swinging down his sword as he aimed for Luther’s head but the mercenary’s quick reflexes allowed him to stab the man through the arm before punching him with his fist.

The Master Archer struck Luther’s helm with his spiked mace as the mercenary was knocking the second archer out. Luther fell to the ground with his back against the floor. His ears ringed and his vision blurry, he couldn’t see anyone clearly as the blow managed to land a devastating hit upon Luther.

It was at the last moment when his eyes caught the shadows of the Master Archer approaching him with his mace held high. Luther raised his sword in time before the Sarranid lands the killing blow. Luckily for the mercenary, he used the man’s weight against him and threw him off the walls.

Luther shook his head as he looked around at the carnage. The rest of the Sergeants have killed the archers that stood in their nest, firing down arrow upon arrow at the army. As he regained his composure, he took up his large board shield and charge through the top of the walls once more.

At the gates, the battering ram managed to destroy it and the defenders were forced to retreat into the heart of the large city. The Rhodoks entered Shariz and into the streets, fighting against the stubborn Sarranids in their own homes.

They fight with all their might, unleashing every bit of the strength to defend their city. Mamlukes and Sarranid Guards fought side by side against the terrifying force that is the Rhodoks. The sound of clashing steel and screams of death filled the atmosphere – it was chaos. The walls have fallen and the rest of the massive Rhodoks army flooded the streets in mere minutes.

As they charged through the maze that is the streets of Shariz, the Sergeants have expected a glorious victory in the name of their king. But everything went silent, the soldiers that have retreated to the heart of Shariz went missing as if they were ghosts. The Sergeants and other recruits looked around and up at the buildings – something is wrong.

One of the Sergeants peered behind their backs, his eyes saw a few of the Rhodoks men engulfed in flames as they ran across the street. They roll upon the ground in anguish, in an attempt to put out the flames that has been consuming their very flesh. He looked up, noticing the enemy soldiers have been preparing something ‘special’ for them. He saw them holding small ceramic pots of ‘molten fire’ and immediately pushed away a nearby recruit into safety.

The Sergeant and the rest of his comrades can’t do anything but to raise their shields, only to be burned by the liquid as soon as they were poured upon them. Then the screams of pain and agony filled the streets, the smell of burning flesh bursts into the air as the Sergeants were burned down by the burning liquid poured onto them by the Sarranids who hid in the buildings above. It’s a trap.

The recruit saw all of this happening, he saw his fellow soldiers burned to death as they helplessly rolled upon the ground. Their roars of war and glory turned into screams of death. The liquid burned through their armor, eating away at their skin and flesh as the flames engulfed their entire being.

As Luther’s company walked around the corner, he saw the Sarranids up in the buildings and ordered his crossbowmen to fire at them. They dropped on the ground, breaking their brittle bones as their bodies hit the solid ground – killing them in an instant.

“Bastards,” Lezalit spoke out as he looked at the burnt corpses of the Rhodoks soldiers upon the ground. Its flames kept on burning until there is nothing left to consume. He looked at their twisted faces, each reeks of a painful death and an unending torment by flames until the last seconds of their lives.

Luther gulped at the sight of horror displayed in front of him. He never knew that the Sultanate was cruel enough to burn their enemies. He looked around and saw the young recruit, hiding behind the walls with his shield and spear dropped upon the ground. He saw his face painted with shock, the boy breathed heavily as he curled up his body, leaning against the wall.

The mercenary leader could do nothing but to sigh. The battle rages on and Shariz hasn’t been conquered yet. The streets are filled with traps set up by the Sultanate’s forces, who knows if they have worse ways to kill their attackers.

“We march!” Luther said to the remainder of his company. “Keep yourself close to the walls and away from the streets, crossbowmen keep your eyes peeled and your weapons loaded! Make sure that none of those bastards pour out their molten fire upon our men!”

“Yes sir!” They shouted in a complete unison.

Luther approached Lezalit’s side before sending a man to bring the boy back to the main camp for treatment. As his men marched deeper into the heart of the city, his troublesome thoughts plagued his mind once more as looked up into the skies, “What other things that Hakim had in store for us?” he asked.

Lezalit went silent for a few moments. The sound of men marching across the streets and arrows whistling as they cut through the air accompanied them as the battle goes on. “It was the Dragon’s Blood,”

Luther raised an eyebrow as he heard an unfamiliar name. “What?”

“Dragon’s Blood, a chemical liquid that would burn pretty much through anything until it extinguishes. Only sand and cow piss can put it out, give it water and nothing would happen,” he explained. “I read it once in the libraries of Yalen. Our land do not have the necessary resources to create such devastating weapons,”

“You are saying that Hakim bought them from another place? Somewhere far away from Calradia?” Luther asked before his eyes looked down at the burnt flesh of the Rhodoks men.

Lezalit nodded, “Perhaps he bought them from the Empire of Zhou. Rich empire, spanned across several nations, possessing a powerful military force to guard its realms. Could even become one of our invaders if they wish, the soldiers of Zhou would easily crush our nations in just two months,” he explained.

Luther moved forward and deeper into the heart of Shariz, traversing through its deadly maze. Even the walls have crumbled, the defenders kept on fighting and protecting what is theirs with an undying devotion to the Sultanate – no, to Hakim.

The Fall of Shariz​

It has been almost two hours since the siege began and it felt like a lot of time has passed. Both sides have suffered in the fighting. Men burnt into ash and the sands stained with a crimson red, the screams soon faded away as time passes and the Rhodoks managed to arrive at the palace of the city.

As the soldiers marched into the courtyard, an unnerving silence followed the rattling footsteps of the Rhodoks. The sound of fire crackling in the distance and the seemed empty. Luther knew this was another trap.

He caught the glimpse of a figure at the corner of his eye, emerging behind a wooden crate. He raised his instinctively as the man threw a small handheld sphere towards them before Luther heard a devastating explosion going off at every throw. His shield shattered, its force had thrown him backwards towards the ground. But the assault hasn’t ended and multiple other deafening booms followed.

The Sergeants and the rest of the soldiers blocked these handheld explosive weapons. But those who are unlucky, find themselves shredded into chunks of flesh by its blow and its flames would burn those who are close. The screaming begins, one of pain and agony while another of rage as the Rhodoks fought back, killing their enemies with their spears. The crossbowmen fired at those who are at the top floors while the infantrymen dealt the ones who are the courtyard.

Before the fighting ends, the doors to the main palace hall bursts open as Mamlukes and Sarranid Guards charged through the courtyard in an attempt to finish them off. A desperate attempt of the last few to defend their city. Luther gets up only to get hit by a javelin before dropping once again to the ground.

He fades between life and death. After hours of fighting, exhaustion started to take its toll and rendered him incapable of fighting just as efficiently as he was at the initial of the siege. His eyes blurry and his hands trembled as if the reaper of souls is coming to take him.

The sound of men screaming in battle fades away as his eyes close and darkness took him away.



It was cold and dark. He is alone. He felt the wet soil underneath his body as Luther sits up. He felt no pain, not even fatigued after hours of fighting. Somehow, they were all healed within less than a day – impossible. Even the best herbs and medical prescription would need weeks at best to treat wounds suffered from a lengthy battle. It would be a miracle if it healed in a very short time or it could be something else.

Luther lifted his eyes and gazed upon his surroundings. Woods. He saw trees surrounded him, its leave rustled and accompanied by the silent whispers of ghosts. Still, he is alone.

He walked around the forest. As he kept on venturing deeper into the woods, he finds a lake and dropped on his knees at its shore. He clasps his hands together before taking a drink.

Then everything came to him. He saw the visions of his past displayed to him once again. From how he was born to a Khergit mother and a Rhodok father, how badly he was treated when he attended school during his first years of life. He was overwhelmed by his memories and dropped to the ground, his past came back to haunt him.

He saw of his first days as a soldier of the Rhodok army and how he became a mercenary who served no lord but a fat sack of gold. How his life is nothing but war. How he served the blade. He saw his first kill – a young bandit boy, stabbed through the heart by Luther’s blade.

Luther's first battle as a Rhodok Spearman​

“Stop this!” he screamed. Then the Fall of Ichamur was in full display. A few hundred men against the might of the Sarranid Sultanate. The defenders gave their might – as a weapon to claim victory. But Ichamur fell into Sarranid hands nonetheless.

The Fall of Ichamur​

Then the leaves of the trees began to fall as if they are dying. They fall to where the wind leads them. The birds flew away from the trees as Luther began to regain his composure and his visions stopped.

“Do you see it?” a voice spoke out. As soft as silk, in an accent unknown to the people of Calradia. “Your past?” the voice asked again.

Luther lifted his head and turned around, to see where did the voice comes from. A figure emerged from the shadow of the trees, dressed in white and a coat of golden hair flows down her back like a river. Her eyes were as blue as the skies, her skin as pale as snow. “Who…who are you?”

“I am the Watcher,” the woman said. She approached him, touching Luther’s cheek with her hand. “I watch out for souls who lingers between life and death,”
Her touch were just as cold as ice itself, sending chills down his spine. Death touched him. “So I’m already dead huh,”

The watcher backed away and crosses her arms, “Dying, yes. Dead? No,” she answered as her eyes looked through every detail of Luther’s being, his armor, his skin, his green eyes – everything.

“Then why am I here?” the mercenary asked.

“Because you still have a duty to fulfill,” the Watcher answered. “Ever since your life begins, your land is ravaged by war. Each side slaughtered themselves to the point of destruction. It has been this way since the last Emperor of Calradia dies,”

Luther remained silent as the Watcher speaks. She continued, “Yet you search for peace. Searching for a sign to end all conflict and for years you do not have the ways to enact your plans. Bring an end to the wars of this land is no easy task, it would require someone to unite all of the kingdoms,”

“The New Emperor,” Luther uttered.

“True. But you are not fit to be one,” she stretched out her hand and conjured a sword – one of ancient design. Symbols of the old Calradic runes were etched upon its blade, its hilt were of black and silver, swirling up to the cross guards.
“This is the Sword of Kings. Only a true monarch of Calradia may be able to wield it,”

“If I’m not fit to be king then why am I here? I am not worthy of wielding that blade,” he speaks, nodding at the sword as he stands up.

She conjured the sheath for the sword and slides it inside. “Your task, is to bring the sword to the new emperor of Calradia. Your kind have called this sword many names, the Holy Avenger, the Sword of Redemption, the Hand of the Gods and even – “

“Excalibur,” Luther mumbled.



Days has passed since the attack on Shariz. He slowly opened his eyes and turned around, to see many of the injured men lying on beds and treated by apothecaries. Some were burnt badly, some lost an arm or two while others were scarred for life, unable to let go of the horrors they’ve seen during the battle. He then saw a female apothecary tending to his wounds as he wakes up, pressing herbs onto his injury on his shoulder where he was last struck by a javelin. “W-Where am I?” he asked her.

She turned around, looking down at Luther with her golden eyes as she treats him. “You are in Shariz,” she replied. “You are knocked out for the last three days and we almost thought that you were dead,”

Hearing the name itself brings relief to Luther’s heart. After all that fighting, the Rhodoks have managed to conquer the city. He looked to his right and saw the sword laid down next to him that he sees in his vision – Excalibur. His eyes widened in shock.

“Is something wrong Mister…?” she paused, waiting for a response.

“Luther. Luther Ambrose,” he answered as he turned to face her gaze. It seemed that a duty has been bestowed upon him, one that would lead him to countless trials and difficulties – to bring the Sword of Kings to the next Emperor of Calradia. “Thanks for not letting me die,”

She curled her lips into a smile, “I am an apothecary, Sir Luther. I vowed to save people’s lives, not to harm them. Oh and, I am Myra,” the young woman introduced herself as she stretched out her hand to shake his.

They both shook their hands and he was surprised at her attitude, too quick to trust people. It seemed to the mercenary, that she is oblivious to the way of life in the world of Calradia.

But it matters not. He shifted his eyes towards the windows above their heads, looking at the shattered glasses that were once painted with tales to be told. His eyes rests at the one window that is intact, one that is painted with the picture of a king wielding Excalibur itself.

His duty as the leader of a band of mercenaries met its end. For now, he is the one who’d find the true king of Calradia. The one who’d raised a flag and unite them all.

The Seeker begins his quest.



AUTHOR'S NOTE: Alright, I didn't get any screenshots for burnt men for that one part during the Fall of Shariz. Well, again I have to find something on Google to use. So far, haven't found one.

I wanted to extend this battle just to show how different the Sultanate was then the rest of the factions. How Hakim is more than just a king - he is a tactician and how loyal his people are to him. The fact that he bought something from a faraway land would demonstrate this and how he uses it.

By the way, Zhou is just a made up faction. Not from any other mods, to my knowledge. If there's a faction within other mods that have the same name, it's just a coincidence. Zhou is a faction based on ancient China.

Also, let's see if you can get another reference to another mod. Not from Pendor this time.

 

[ArnulfFloyd]

Interesting

 

[Stormfall_03]

Chapter 13: When The Summer Winds Roared​

Deckard Winters,
The city of Praven,
8th year of Harlaus’ reign on the Swadians,​

The Nords amassed an army once more. This time, larger than before with a force of 10,000 strong – enough to bring an entire nation upon its knees. Desperate to keep Swadian lands safe from the clutches of the Nords, Harlaus sent a messenger to King Yaroglek – monarch of the Vaegirs to form an alliance but he declined, wishing to keep his people safe from the wrath of the Nords.

Once again, the Swadians were left to fight their war against the Nords alone. It is already three months since the news of the Rhodoks’ conquest of Shariz ended and the Sultanate began making preparations for the reclamation, the Swadians bolstered their defenses in every city and every villages, setting up garrisons and outposts across their lands to track down the Nord’s movements.

During the same time, Deckard had gained enough renown among the people as he participated in numerous battles against the Nords. A few times resulted in a crushing defeat but it never broke the spirit of his mercenary force. As he marched through the Swadian lands, he received an offer from the king to become his official vassal due to his status among the commoners. One that he could not refuse. Thus, he accepted and was given the village of Burglen as his first fief.

His duties now doubled, from protecting the lands to managing his own village. He appointed a chamberlain from the prominent citizens of his village before he went on and managed the improvements, building a watch tower which is essential for him to track enemy movements.

Deckard went on to Dhirim and into the tavern, to find if anyone wishes to join his growing party of soldiers. He sets his eyes upon Firentis, a former Swadian noble seeking justice and equality among the people. Deckard approached him, “Hello there, were you looking for a job?” he asked.

Firentis nodded, “Indeed I am. I was looking for someone who I can lend my services to,” he replied, followed by a story that retells his past a former minor Swadian noble. He wanted everyone to be treated just as equally, not to favor one side over the other. Indiscriminate.

The Praevorian couldn’t do anything but to be amazed by the man’s ideals and thought of how the world could be much different if the nations had the same philosophy as him. “We’ll do right for the people, punish those who have done the injustice.” His final words reminded himself of his initial goal of coming to Calradia, of revenge against the one who murdered his father. He opened his mouth, “By the way, do you heard anything of a man named Fedorian the Cunning?” he asked.

Firentis shook his head at the unfamiliar name, “No I haven’t. Perhaps you can find about this fellow with the guild master,”

Deckard nodded and welcomed the newcomer into his party. A good addition indeed. As he went outside of the tavern, the smell of booze and bread left the air as he is greeted by the warm winds of summer. He looked around before he makes his way to the guild after traversing the maze of people and streets.

He saw the man – the guild master, wearing robes of black and gold, his beard were white with slithers of black. The Master is attending to the current situation at hand – helping the apothecaries taking care of the sick. Deckard approached him, “Excuse me sir,” he spoke out.

The guild master turned around and puts aside a vial of Red Grass – a herb native to Calradia that is useful for treating cold. “How may I help you sir? Is there anything do you need?”

“I was thinking if do you have any information regarding Fedorian the Cunning?” he said, without wasting anytime to think but to fulfill his original goal.
“Ah, for months we haven’t heard anything about the man. The last I’ve heard of him was five months ago at Balanli,” the guild master replied before handing over the vial to one of the apothecaries. “Are you a bounty hunter?” he asked.

“N-no, I am not. I’m just the newly appointed vassal of Swadia,” Deckard said.

“Oh my, you are Deckard Winters! I’m so sorry for not being able to recognize you milord. Do you want to put a bounty upon Fedorian? I am more than willing to do so,” he said as he leans closer towards Deckard’s ear, “There are bounty hunters after all. But be warned there are rumors that Fedorian is a part of the Black Hand,”

Deckard’s eyes widened. The Black Hand is a mysterious organization of assassins, thieves and bandits that sprawled across the world. Some called it many names, the Red Brotherhood, the Worshippers of Sala’ar, the Eye of the Dark, the Dark Brotherhood and others. But they all carry the same symbol, a hand with an eye on its palm.

But rumors remained rumors, without evidence there is no truth – only speculations. Nevertheless, Deckard agreed to set up a bounty of 10,000 denars as a reward to those who managed to capture or kill Fedorian the Cunning. He soon left the guild and walked around the streets, looking at those who are stricken with disease and the alleyways are packed with people who are unable to find money for themselves.

He saw people chasing after one another, some of the children resulted to thievery as a way to survive their own lives. The city has been neglected by its lord, some of the towers remained unrepaired for months on end after a skirmish with an advance force sent by the Nords. Deckard could do nothing but remained silent and his face grim at the sight of the city’s state.

He left the walls of Dhirim and into Burglen. By the time he arrived, Jeremus had an invitation from Harlaus to attend a feast in Praven. Deckard sighed at the king’s attitude towards his people, they were neglected, left to rot within the unforgiving tides pf war and bloodshed. But he sees the opportunity to make a good impression of the lords of Swadia and head on to Praven while leaving a small portion of his men to patrol the lands surrounding Burglen.

The city of Praven, the Jewel of Swadia​

He entered Praven and changed into his normal clothes as he ventured into the castle halls, packed with the lords and ladies from across the lands of Swadia. He heard the voices of bards singing the songs of the lords, telling their glorious deeds for the nation in beautiful words accompanied by music. He saw them laughing as if the kingdom is no longer at war. He picked a cup and filled it the finest wine of Swadia before heading over to the balcony, looking down at the streets below.

His mind is filled with the thoughts of the bloodshed that had been occurred since his arrival at Calradia. The raid at Azgad, the Battle of the Veidar Fields, the Siege of Dhirim and many others. It has been a long war and he couldn’t see the end of it, castles such as Jelbegi Castle and Ryibelet Castle are constantly changing hands in the war.

“Hey,” a familiar voice reaches Deckard’s ear. “Are you okay?”

Deckard turned around and sees Lady Qutala, her brown hair falls down her shoulders like a stream. Her eyes were as blue as the oceans. “No, I’m fine. There’s nothing to worry about,” he replied. “Where’s your brother?” he asks of Sebula.

“Oh he was busy, managing his own village at Ruluns. The Nords kept attacking it and he couldn’t just stand back and watch his villagers getting slaughtered day by day,” she answered. Her face turns grim and sad as she thinks of her brother’s safety. It was clear to Deckard that the war has been going on long enough. “And congratulations for becoming a vassal of Swadia!” she said with a cheerful smile on her face, throwing away her sadness with a childish demeanor.

A few of the lords heard Qutala’s voice. Haringoth smiled and lifted a cup of wine, “To the Champion of Swadia! And to the prosperity of the nation!” he said. Followed by the others who recognized the Praevorian’s deeds on the field. Some remained silent, disgusted and hated the fact that a foreigner became a vassal of the king.

Deckard smiled, noting that they acknowledge his actions as good. He made a good impression to the lords. Well, most of them. He did more than just that, he gained their trust. Even though the war rages on, it’s a good thing that he had time to be somewhere else other than driving his sword through someone’s heart. He lifted his cup, “For Swadia!”

The lords followed as well. He saw their loyalty to their king and especially, to the kingdom itself. He felt a light punch to his arm, “Cheer up a bit will you? You don’t want that young face of yours becoming grumpy and all,” she said to him, giggling. Qutala then saw Harlaus approached Deckard, “Oh, my liege.” She said, bowing in respect for the king.

Deckard does the same, “Your Majesty, what can I do for you?”

“Oh it’s nothing to worry about. Forgive me for making a feast during war time but I needed the lords gathered here.” The king answered. Harlaus leaned forward towards Deckard, as if he didn’t want anyone to here his words but his most trusted lords. “I believe something terrible is coming,”

The words sent a slight fear to Deckard’s mind, his mind scrambled between the war against the Nords and this…new threat that he didn’t know about. “What is it my king?” he glanced over at Qutala, now talking with her friends and family.

“We’ll talk about this later. A few of the lords will stay to discuss about it.” Harlaus replied, putting a hand on Deckard’s shoulders and quickly replaced his stoic expression with a friendly smile. “In the meantime, enjoy yourself, Count Deckard.” He left to interact with the other guests.

He spent the night talking with the lords, strengthening their bond as vassals of Swadia and maintaining a stable relationship as to not cause any distrust and hate among themselves. His old ways as the son of a noble back in his homeland returned to him, reminding him of how a noble should speak and talk. The days of his past came to him, remembering how the days before the death of his father were like.

As the feast continues to the next day, he joined the tournament that was being held. Deckard joined and only managed to enter the top five contestants with Harlaus emerged as the victor. He visited his friend Saladin in a rented room in Praven, after his legs were crippled he began gathering information regarding the current situation of the land, assigning moles to various locations around Calradia. He even managed to get a hold of mechanical contraptions invented by the distant nation of the Senshin Union to help him walk again.

Despite regaining his ability to walk, he declined the offer to fight alongside Deckard and continued his duty of gathering information. The Praevorian entered Saladin’s room, with countless of books gathered from the Scholars stacked on one side of the room. Saladin worked hard to gain as much intel he could find, “What did you find Saladin?” Deckard asked.

Saladin soon began explaining the various knighthood orders found across Calradia. The Order of the Snow, Order of the Immortal Sun, the Watchful Eye and many others as he too tells of their duties. “There’s not much I can find except the history of the land itself. These knighthood orders are rare enough, most pf which are disbanded decades following the first kings of their respective nations,” Saladin explained. “The Scholars sometimes mentioned something of the supernatural and there have been talks of the…New Emperor,”

“The New Emperor?” Deckard asks, tilting his head as he sat down on one of Saladin’s chairs.

The Tenusian throws a book towards Deckard, one that explained about the old Calradic Empire and of the prophecy that mentions of the New Emperor. “The people have been talking about a new king of Calradia, one that would unite these lands under a single banner. I’ve asked the Scholars here in Praven, they said that if a New Emperor rises to take the throne of the land, a war is coming. One that would decide the fate of the new empire,”

Deckard flips through its pages and stopped as he looks at the picture of a sword that he never seen before. He read through the lines, “The Sword of Kings is one that only the true monarch of Calradia may wield. But ever since the last Emperor falls, the sword was lost and never found,” the Praevorian speaks out loud.

“Ah, about that sword. The Scholars did say that the true king of the old Empire may wield it. But only those who are worthy may pull the famed sword out from its sheath,” Saladin continued. “The thing has already lost to the ages. It has become a legend.”

“Anything else?”

Saladin shook his head, “Not much. But if you allow me to buy some things from outside the land for the use of your army, it could help you in your battles,”

“Go ahead, just send me a list and I’ll withdraw some of my money from the coffers to buy it.”

“Understood,”

Deckard nodded and thanked Saladin for his efforts. The thought of uniting lands comes last, the war awaits. He left his room and headed for the main castle.



The feast ended and the few remaining lords were gathered in the War Room. They sat around a circular table made out of stone, with carvings of ancient runes upon it. Harlaus sat on his own seat as the rest of the lords entered the room.

Deckard enters the room, his ears caught the voice of lords echoes through the hallway and got louder as he walked through the door. “ – worse. You know how the people at the South are dangerous as well right? With the new Executioner being appointed, there is no telling what Graveth would do,”

Deckard sat down and looked around, seeing the faces of Falsevor, Sebula, Haringoth and Rochabath. It seems that only a small portion of the nobles were the ones that Harlaus trusted, he hears them arguing, discussing the current matter at hand while the king listens.

“Those Sergeants are as worse as the Huscarls of the Nords. If Graveth seeks to crush our land, he could do it in just a year. Even a month if he already an army powerful enough to wipe our nation off from the face of Calradia,” Haringoth spoke out. “I have received no reports from my spies that Graveth is planning something big, but still. Having a new Executioner at his side after its absence for generations is quite…worrying,”

Deckard leaned closer to Sebula who sat at his side, “What is the Executioner?”
Sebula explained its role in maintaining order in the land of the Rhodoks and powerful he can be. With his presence, the king would easily spread his influence across the land without competition.

“But, why now?” Rochabath speaks.

“I have no idea, I’m afraid. But what makes things worrying is the fact that according to my spies in Jelkala, the new Executioner is apparently…a Nord,” Harlaus speaks out.

Silence followed his words. The lords were shocked at this evidence. “Is it possible that the Nords and the Rhodoks are planning to form an alliance in an attempt to crush our nation from both sides?”

“Most likely,” Deckard speaks. “But it seemed…quite wrong in my opinion. Why would Graveth would appoint someone other than a Nord to become his right hand man?”

“Probably the same reason why I chose you to become my vassal,” Harlaus speaks. “You are from Praevor right? A foreigner. Yes, I may have made a questionable decision that maybe the lords have their rights to question – “

“Nonsense my king. You have made a good decision,” Haringoth leaned forward. “But your decisions are justified by Deckard’s actions my king. He garnered quite a reputation by defending our lands from being invaded by the Nords quite a few times but this…new Executioner is someone that we don’t know about,”

“What are you thinking Haringoth?” Harlaus said, running his fingers on his chin as he leaned back against his chair.

“I’m thinking that…due to our unfamiliarity of this new individual is, we do not know how he thinks, how he leads his army, his ruthlessness. He could be more cunning than anyone of us and that gives an advantage to Graveth whenever we decided to launch an attack,” Haringoth continued. “To fight an enemy blindly is basically suicide,”

Deckard glances at Rochabath, “What of your spies from the Nords? Have they reported anything?”

The lord pulled an assortment of parchments tied together with a single thread, the reports no doubt. “Nothing except the spies have stated that Ragnar is employing blacksmiths all over his kingdom to re-forge weapons made out of Sargoth Steel. Some of the spies have even stated that they were going to send these weapons to their knighthood order,” he said, referring to the Order of the Snow.

“Maybe for the latest batch of graduates. Poor bastards, having to live 6 years of their lives trained to become killing machines,” Haringoth remarked. Being trained as a recruit in the Order meant harsh training on the coldest mountains of Calradia, all are deemed necessary to become the perfect killing machine.
Deckard tilted his head at the unfamiliar name mentioned, “What’s Sargoth Steel?” he asked. Perhaps he forgot to ask Saladin about it.

Harlaus opened his mouth and crosses his arms, “A type of steel that is much lighter than normal steel itself. Much more durable and extremely rare. It can still be forged like usual but due to its rarity, most weapons that are made from Sargoth Steel are simply…re-forged ones from its previous forms,” the king explained. “But it wasn’t as rare as the ones made from Darranic Steel. Even lighter than Sargoth’s, even more durable and some even said that it is unbreakable,”

The meeting went on for another few hours. They keep on talking regarding the current state of affairs, how to deal with the war against the Nords and the rising threat of the Rhodoks. Some lords began arguing but were resolved swiftly with Harlaus’ persuasive words. In the end, it took no more than four hours to decide that the best course of action at the time was strike the Nords where it hurt the most – at its heart.

“Assemble the Lions,” Harlaus ordered. He sent out messengers to all corners of the kingdom to every lord that served under his banner. It is time to bring the wrath of the Swadians to the mountains and down to the snowy fields of Sargoth.

The Nords shall fall.



AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry if there hasn't much action in this latest update. But there will be in the next few chapters. I intend to finish the first part of the whole story and continue on to the next. Once everyone got a "new" role, by everyone I mean the three protagonists, we can close off "The Beginning".

Well, I wanted to lean more to the narrative style structure of the AAR and not to focus on too much on the "boring" aspects of the game and would gloss over them like recruiting new people and stuff. Instead, I would be focusing on expanding the world of Calradia by adding in new stuff to make things more interesting. I also lean towards a low-epic-fantasy genre, kinda like ASOIAF and An Ember In The Ashes (you should read the latter, it's good).

Here are some bonus screenies for you guys! Maybe I'll use them in the near future for the story!

隐藏: screenshots!

This was the time when me and Firentis were up against Hakim's 300+ men. We only had around 200 or so.

 

[Stormfall_03]

Chapter 14: The Hunt​

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

The Executioner has been given a new task – hunt down a traitor of the kingdom. Dead or alive, it doesn’t matter. As long as Bjorn succeeds in his task, he has executed the King’s will. It has been four months since the Rhodoks have taken the Sarranid capital and their kingdom are actively engaging in numerous conflicts around the deserts. Graveth fought Hakim head on in the Battle of Dirigh Aban. The Sultanate managed to take Jelkala but the Rhodoks managed to reclaim what was theirs in the Reclamation of Jelkala. The fighting has been tough, but none of the kings wishes to give up for a truce.

Bjorn however was busy tracking down the traitor. He searched through every streets of the cities in the kingdom, from Jelkala to Yalen and to Veluca before he went into Khergit territory where his presence was rightfully objected by its people. Having an enemy army marched into territory is one thing, but the right hand man to enter their cities to conduct a mission without having the permission of the Khan is another.

It can be considered as an act of provocation. The news of the Executioner’s appointment spread through the kingdoms like a plague, some feared for the worst while others welcomed him.

Bjorn went from village to village, city to city as he tracked down this wrongdoer. He pulled out a note from his satchel, containing the description of the man he is hunting: long black hair, green eyes and muscular build. Last seen with a woman with auburn hair in Tulga.

He wasted no time and headed for Tulga. To where this man is last seen. Bjorn was accompanied by a few of the more elite Rhodoks Sergeants as his backup, a few as 12 would be more than enough to help him for the hunt.

As the Executioner walked into the streets of Tulga, the eyes of the commoners set their gaze upon him and his company. The air is filled with tension and distrust, questions flared into their minds as they look at Bjorn as he does his duty. He walked into the tavern and investigated, ordering his Sergeants to go through the rooms to see if the traitor is under the protection of the tavern keeper.

“What is the meaning of this?” the tavern keeper shouted, demanding for an explanation as Bjorn continued with his hunt. One of the Sergeants pushed the keeper towards a wall, prompting all wary eyes to set their sights upon them. Mercenaries, commoners, they all look at him.

Bjorn gestured to the Sergeant to release him, “I am sorry. We are hunting down one of the king’s traitors under his command. I believe he is nearby,”

“You can’t just come into Khergit lands and take matters into your own hands!” she shouted again. Her fists clenched as she coughed, “This is under our khan and protector’s jurisdiction! You can’t! Even if you are the Executioner of the Rhodoks!”

The customers kept their eyes, some looking through the slits of their helmets as they keep a wary gaze. Their hands gripped on the hilt of their weapons in case if anything happens.

“He’s not here sir!” one of the Sergeants shouted from the top floor.

Bjorn sighed and ordered his men to leave the tavern. His efforts are fruitless, without a lead he could not conduct his duty efficiently. As he walked once again through the busy streets of Tulga, he looked up and saw the colorful dangling oil lamps of the Khergits. Purple, red, yellow, green, blue. They lit up the dark streets as night approaches.

The sound of music filled the air as he heard drums and the cheerful voices of men, women and children echoed through the streets. Indeed, it is the celebration held in honor of the khan’s birthday. He had the urge to sway away from the king’s orders, but he must carry it out.

As he and his men walked away from the crowds, he caught a glimpse of a figure wearing robes and a hood covering his face slipped into an alleyway. Without a shred of hesitation, Bjorn chased after the man with haste. The weight of his armor does not encumber him, his legs were as fast as a thief’s, quick and agile.

But the man is faster, jumping through the crates and carts that got into his way before turning into a corner. Bjorn followed, only to find him disappeared as soon as the Executioner entered the alleyway. It’s a dead end. “By the gods, he’s gone,” he turned around and looked at his men, “Search all the nearby buildings and premises! I want that man captured!” he barked out orders.

The Sergeants turned around without hesitation and quickly went into the buildings to search for him. As he looked up into the skies, he sees the figure once more. He looked around before Bjorn decided to climb up the walls.

He grabbed the bricks that protrudes out from its position and used it to climb up with ease. Still, the heavy weight of his armor didn’t hinder his speed down. As soon as he reached the top, he saw the man running across the rooftops, jumping from one building and another.

The Executioner chased him, the sound of his rattling armor is muffled down by the voices of people cheering below and the music that accompanied their feast. “Halt!” he shouted to the man but to no avail. Perhaps the surrounding sounds were too loud for the man to hear. Or perhaps he chose to ignore it.

Bjorn’s quick steps allowed him to catch up to the robed figure, lunging towards him as the Executioner pushed him down to the ground. The man rolled backwards and stood up, unfazed by the force exerted by the Nord. “Stop running,” Bjorn spoke out, drawing out his sword from its sheath.

The man’s face is half covered from the nose down to his mouth by a cloth. His obscured the rest of his facial features as the dark shadows only made it harder for Bjorn to identify the man. But his green eyes are more than enough to let the Nord know that he is the traitor.

The traitor carried two swords on his back, one with a black, metallic sheath and the other of wood and silver. He gripped the hilt of the sword from the wooden sheath as he kept his green eyes locked upon the Executioner.

Several throwing daggers wrapped around the man’s waist, a few small bags and nothing else. Even if the man managed to land a hit with his daggers, it won’t be enough to bring Bjorn down with his armor. “Why are you running?” Bjorn asked.

The man remained silent, his eyes narrowed as if he were telling Bjorn through his eyes. You already knew why. His eyes spoke.

Sergeants emerged from the rooftops through the doors, surrounding the man. “Surrender, traitor! Do it willingly and the woman with you will not be harmed!” one of them said, referring to the companion that the man have brought alongside him.

His hands were too quick, Bjorn saw a flash of light whooshed through the air as a dagger struck one of the Sergeant’s neck. A gush of red liquid stained the floor and trickled down the soldier’s armor.

The rest of them rushed towards the traitor. But with his quick reflexes, he dodged each of them with ease. He pulled out the sword from the wooden sheath, stabbing one in the chest before throwing the Sergeant off the rooftops and down to the streets below.

In an instant, the sound of joy was quickly turned into screams of horror as the dead Sergeant fell down. The man dispatched a few of them with a deadly grace, as if he was trained after a very long and the art of killing seemed to be a natural talent.

Another of the sergeant lunged at him with his sword aimed for the man’s head. He barely dodged it and only grazed the bottom of his eye. He drove his sword towards the man’s skull, stabbing him from his jaw and the cold steel of his blade pierced through the Sergeant’s head. Another one dead.

Bjorn charged in next only to fall on his back as the traitor threw the dead body of the Sergeant towards him. Another one of the Executioner’s men approached with his board shield in front, large enough to cover his whole body.

He grabbed his own sword by the blade with its hilt and used it as a hammer. He swung his sword, hitting the soldier in the head with its crossguard and knocking his helmet off. The traitor pinned him down and finished him with another stab through the mouth.

As Bjorn stood up and pushed aside the dead body of the Sergeant, he saw the man running away once more after killing four out of twelve soldiers sent to accompany Bjorn in his hunt. The Executioner cursed under his breath and ordered his men to chase him down.

But the man was too quick even after all the fighting. He dropped down the buildings and into a tent which breaks down his fall before he quickly made his way into the stables. Bjorn dropped as well, followed by a loud thud as he hit the ground. It’s as if one could see the crack of the ground where he landed.

The Executioner turned around before he narrowly dodged a white horse galloping through the streets – it was him. He stole one of the better stallions and made it out of the city in haste.

Bjorn grabbed a spear from one of the Khergit horseman and aimed at the traitor. His eyes fixed on the man’s back, his grip tight and his breath steady as he begins to make his throw. But the Khergit Lancers who stood as guards apprehended him, pinning him to the ground. “You are under arrest!” one of the Lancers shouted.

With all his strength, he broke free of the Lancers. He screamed out the man’s name, “Luther!” before he threw the spear with every bit of his strength. Anger, rage, sadness. He channeled them all into this one strike.

Luther turned around as Bjorn called out his name. He saw the spear but he was too slow to be able to dodge it in time. It struck him at the back of his shoulder, almost knocking him off the horse. But he grabbed tight of the saddle and made his way out of Tulga, disappearing into one of the villages nearby.



2 WEEKS EARLIER

It was a week after the Reclamation of Jelkala. After the Sarranids lost their grip upon the capital city of the Rhodoks after being overwhelmingly crushed by the sheer might of the kingdom’s army. Many repairs were quickly made and patrols were sent out to guard the borders between the Sultanate and the Rhodoks. Graveth had his lords guarded Shariz without failure. It remained in their hands.
At the time, Luther was still a mercenary serving the Rhodoks. Carrying the Sword of Kings or Excalibur at all times. It was at a feast that everything changed.

The lords of Rhodoks gathered once more in the halls of Jelkala, bringing their wives and daughters to this auspicious occasion. Lifting cups of wine and ale, surrounded by the nobles and champions alike.

Bjorn remained at Graveth’s side, observing the guests as they are enjoying themselves. “Everything is progressing well so far, my king. I heard that the Sarranids are going for a truce?” The Executioner asked.

“Those are just rumors, my Executioner. Hakim would not back down without a fight,” Graveth replied, taking a sip of wine from his cup.

His Executioner nodded before setting his gaze once again upon the crowd of lords and ladies. Graveth clasped his hands together, his eyes looking downwards as if he was thinking of his next move in his war against Hakim. Then, the door castle doors opened as Luther walked in with Excalibur in his hand.

The mercenary approached him then knelt on one knee, stretching out his hands to give the king of the Rhodoks the Sword of Kings. “My king, I bring to you the Sword of Kings.” He said with his head bowed down. “Only the true king of Calradia may wield it. And that is you, my lord,”

Graveth stood up from his throne and walked down the steps. “It’s an honor, my champion.” He said, grabbing the sword still inside its metallic black sheath.
The king of the Rhodoks observed the intricacies of the blade, “But this blade is lost to the ages. Since the downfall of the Empire, the Sword of Kings disappeared. How did you find it?”

Luther shrugged, “Perhaps it appeared once a worthy king is born upon this land? I do not know the reason myself,”. He said, hiding away the fact that he was tasked by the Watcher to find the true king – a worthy king to unite all nations. It was more than obvious that Luther thinks that Graveth is the one true unifier of the land.

The king of the Rhodoks held the hilt of the sword with his other hand grabbing its sheath. Graveth attempted to pull it out but the blade won’t slide out. He tried again, putting more strength into pulling it out but to no avail. The sword won’t budge.

Graveth gave his Executioner the sword, wanting him to try to pull the legendary blade out from its sheath. Bjorn pulled as hard as he could, it’s as if the sword itself was a part of the sheath itself. “What is this, Luther?” Graveth asked.

Luther remained clueless of the fact that only the true unifier of Calradia may pull the sword out and wield it to its full power. This was a part of a test – to see if the individual is worthy to become the New Emperor.

Graveth is not.

Bjorn threw the sword back at Luther, “You may keep this trashy sword. It could be nothing more than just a cheap replica that the smiths forged. Its sheath could be a part of the sword as well,” he said.

“Y-you’re not worthy,” Luther mumbled. “But why?”

Bjorn heard him. Enraged, he lifted Luther up from his knees as he grabbed the man by his armor. “What do you know of a worthy king?! Are you saying that our king does not fit to be the ruler of Calradia?!”

Luther pushed him away, “I am not the one who decided that!” he said. “The sword does! Not me!”

The lords and ladies mumbled, whispering at the sight of them arguing during the feast. Tension grew between them, anger rises within Bjorn’s heart as Luther’s actions seemed to have insulted Graveth. “Arrest him,”

“What?” Luther looked at Graveth, puzzled at the king’s words.

“Arrest him. Executioner,” the king repeated his order. In an instant, Luther felt a sense of fear emanating from the king. The sword seemingly whispered him the things that he shouldn’t have heard. Terrible things that only he knew.

Luther ran away from the hall with the sword in his hand. Partly terrified but mostly angered at what the sword whispered to him. He swiftly dodges the guards and soon disappeared into the streets of Jelkala.

Unfortunately, Bjorn remained clueless as to why Luther act the way he does. After that day, the Executioner carried out the king’s orders with an undying devotion. He hunted down his former friend – now branded as a traitor.



PRESENT DAY

Bjorn was brought over to Sanjar Khan at dawn after his actions during the festival held in his honor. He was chained, surrounded by a few Khergit Lancers as he walked through the castle halls and meet the khan. The purple banners of the Khergit king were hung down on each side of the wall, precious relics were arranged in order beside the pathways.

“You do realize that you have conducted an act provocation between our kingdoms right?” Sanjar said, looking down at Bjorn. “You should have let us handle this matter. But instead, you insisted.”

Bjorn remained silent. He was only doing his duty as an Executioner for the king. For two weeks he is trying to find the reasons why everything changed since that day.

“So I heard that the Sword of Kings have made a reappearance is it not?” the khan walked down the steps, standing in front of Bjorn with his hands behind his back.

The Nord looked at him, puzzled on how he knew about this.

“I saw he carried it. He too gave the sword to me but I knew I am not worthy.” He looked down at his hands, his face painted with grief and guilt as the look of sadness is apparent in his eyes. “For eight years I have shed many innocent blood. All for my own wishes and desires. The Fall of Ichamur? I’d like to think it was a punishment sent down from the gods,”

“You let him go?!” Bjorn raised his voice, only to be pushed down by the Lancers that apprehended him. “He is a ****ing traitor!”

“You do not know why Graveth was unworthy to become king right? You are quick to assume things, Nord,” Sanjar bent down and whispered to Bjorn’s ear. “Let me tell you why…”



AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hey! Another update in a single day! Well, currently I am pushing through to finish part 1 out of a planned 3 part structure of the whole story. And wished to finish this before the end of next week if time is really on my side.

So...enjoy the new chapter fellas! Please let me know what you think!

P/S: Forgive me again for the lack of large scale battles.

 

[ArnulfFloyd]

Interesting chapter for a good story. Unfortunely, all what is related to Warband become unpopular including AARs

 

[Stormfall_03]

Sadly enough, yes. I was unfortunate enough to be active at the time when all Warband-related stuff is less popular. Heck, never even discovered Warband 4-5 years ago.

Well, let's hope someone could bring back AARs into the spotlight!

 

[ArnulfFloyd]

For me popularity and graphics not are so important because I begin play this game only since 27 april. But I have begun a AAR in late may and I abandoning in chapter two

 

[Stormfall_03]

Indeed, popularity never amounts to anything imo. I started playing M&B: W because I love medieval stuff. Why don't you ever continue your AAR?

On a side note, I will be posting the new chapter soon!

 

[ArnulfFloyd]

I not know why abandoning AAR but was because I start to play Pendor

 

[Stormfall_03]

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 )

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)



I guess that's it. There might a few that I've forgotten, sorry about that.

But there will be a new update to the story soon!

 

[ArnulfFloyd]

Interesting list of mods, good luck with AAR, is very interesting how very few keep playing Warband nowadays

 

[Stormfall_03]

Chapter 15: The Perilous Search​

Luther Ambrose,
Somewhere in the steppes,
8th year of Sanjar Khan’s reign on the Khergits,​

He made away from Tulga. Away from the Executioner – a dangerous foe to face with – an old companion even if it lasts for a few months. He pulled the spear that embedded in his flesh and threw it away into the grassy fields, heading swiftly towards a small camp hidden in the forests.

As soon as he arrived, a wall of trees appeared from a distance and he settles down once he ventured deep enough to find the camp. Blood trickled down from his shoulder and down his fingers, a result of Bjorn’s attack upon him when he tried to escape.

His nose caught the smell of burning fish as he closes by, looking at a woman preparing food with the fish she caught in the nearby rivers. “By the gods, Luther!” Myra exclaimed as she saw blood on the man’s fingers. She rushed towards him and brought him down to sit beside a small boulder.

She ripped apart Luther’s garment and robes to inspect the injury, pulling out a few herbs from her satchel. “What just happened Luther?”

“Bjorn’s caught up to me. Bastard still doesn’t get why Graveth isn’t worthy.” He said, wincing in pain as Myra applied King’s Roots upon his wound which left a sharp pain coursing through his arm.

Myra remained silent, attentive to treat Luther’s wound. “Thank the gods your wound isn’t too deep. Or else you’ll die,” she said, taking a needle and sewing the open wound together with a thread.

Luther kept his eyes upon the crackling flames of the bonfire, slowly roasting the fishes she caught. As soon as Myra finishes, she wrapped a clean white cloth around him before attending to the fishes. “By the way,” she spoke out. “Why is Graveth unworthy?” she asks.

A flash of memories rushed back into his mind. One that the whispers of the sword tells him. The night where he escaped Jelkala and slept in the woods, the sword showed him the atrocious deeds that Graveth had done – murdering political opponents, sacrificing villages in order to halt the advance of an enemy faction and so much more.

“He have…done many things that a king shouldn’t.” Luther puts away the two swords beside him, clasping his hands together as he looked into the fire. “Murdering rivals just to strengthen his position and all that. Now I understand why the lords are ‘loyal’ to him. They were afraid. But I always thought that they harbored respect for that man,”

Myra listened, bringing the fishes out of the flames and gave one to Luther. “And what of Sanjar?”

“He is warlike. His mind was…full of the thought of conquest and glory. I know I served him before in his army and at one part of my life, I shared the same thoughts with the khan.” He explained. “Wielding a sword seemed to be my natural talent,” he says dryly, taking the fish as she gave him.

Myra cracked a smile as she looks into Luther’s eyes. “Must have been tough for your first days as a soldier is it not?”

He nodded. He recalled of the times when he first wielded a spear, serving the Rhodoks. Still oblivious to Graveth’s actions at the time, all he thought of was glory and fame and wealth. He told her of time when he served the Khergits and of the Fall of Ichamur a few weeks prior to him becoming the mercenary to the Rhodoks.

“I am now tired of the way of a soldier’s life,” he threw away the stick into the flames as he finishes his fish. “But then I had a new duty.” Luther picked up the Sword of Kings, still inside its metallic black sheath. “I needed to give this to the unifier of Calradia, the New Emperor.”

Night approaches as the moon emerges from the clouds. The cold winds of the night blew violently through the trees as the leaves rustled, whispering like the ghosts of the dead. Myra fell asleep as soon as the stars twinkled in the sky and Luther kept watching for the surroundings for any bounty hunters that are after them. No. Only him.

He only brought Myra because he trusted her despite only knowing the young apothecary for a few months. She too believed that the land needed a savior. Calradia is dying. She once said to him. Those words lingered in his mind.

Luther closes his eyes as the surroundings are clear of any hostiles. He wrapped his arms around the Sword of Kings with his back laid against a tree while Myra slept near the fire.

The Watcher called him again. As he opened his eyes, he finds himself lying down on a blanket of red leaves, staring at the open sky as the leaves fell onto the ground. He stood up and looked around, only to see the Watcher sitting on a branch.

“Narrowly avoided death once again, haven’t you?” the Watcher speaks, her otherworldly eyes gazed upon Luther.

He felt no pain from the wound he suffered earlier. Of course, this is a place different from the physical world. “Fate doesn’t want me dead yet perhaps. I still have my duty – to bring Excalibur to the New Emperor,”

She dropped down from the tree and approached Luther with a deathly grace. Her white dress and robes swirled like they would in water. “All your current efforts are for naught, it seems. Graveth seemed good from the outside but his demeanor hides something far more terrible. His people never knew the truth of what happened to the politicians that died. They all assumed they died of sickness.” The Watcher explained, going into detail about Graveth’s acts during his time as king. “He was a madman, however his victories against his enemies provided him the opportunity to sway his people to overlook them.”

Luther observed as she danced through the woods, the Sword of Kings carried on his back. “Sanjar however…is a much better fellow. He was blinded by conquest, seeking glory and fame for his people, leading whole armies of terrifying horsemen into battle. But the innocents that got caught in his mad goals made him unworthy to be king. That’s why the gods made Ichamur fall,”
The Seeker recalled the battle that occurred during the Fall. Hundreds of men against thousands of the enemies. Every consecutive wave was deadlier than the last, Mamlukes charged up the ladders and Master Archers providing support for the infantrymen.

“But let me tell you one thing,” the Watcher speaks again as she walked towards Luther, her hand stretched as it passed through the man’s body, taking away Excalibur from him. “The kings that sits upon their own thrones isn’t worthy to become the New Emperor,” she said.

Luther turned and faced the Watcher. “Then who? I can’t just ask each commoner to pull out the sword from its sheath,”

“The dying rose of Calradia,” the inhuman being speaks again as she runs fingers down the sword’s sheath. Her eyes sparkled as she admires its beauty. “The crimson rose shall bloom once more with its last petal. For loss and pain had brought our New Emperor to the fields stained by blood,”

The man looked at her with puzzled eyes, still trying to figure who is going to uphold the duty of becoming the New Emperor. “His ideals are young, untainted by the prospect of power and greed.” She continued. “When you find him, tell him that a great suffering shall follow him wherever he goes,”

“Wait who – “ Luther’s eyes were blinded by a bright white light. His body felt warm then his skin were set ablaze. Flames covered his body and before he could scream in pain, he finds himself waking up in the woods of the steppes, gasping for air.

He looked at the sword, A great suffering. Those words echoed within his mind. He cursed under his breath, feeling burdened by the task that was bestowed upon him.



It took Luther and Myra a few weeks to travel from the steppes and into the frozen plains of the Vaegirs. At the time, it was peaceful. There were no signs of war, no piles of black smoke rises into the sky from the villages, no stench of rotting corpses and no stains of crimson blood upon the white fields of snow.
Merchants traded in peace, coming from all corners to land to find money. Spices, dyes, salt, wool, herbs. All can be seen sold in the streets of the Vaegir’s major cities. It has always been like this since Yaroglek ascended to the throne. While it suffers threat from its neighboring nations, the king played a role in maintaining peace.

There was one thing that the Vaegirs were known for – their Marksman. Archers trained to perfect the art of archery as if hitting an enemy miles away would be an easy task with both eyes closed. Their Knights were just as formidable but to Luther, the lack of shields gave them a major disadvantage.
But he is not here to seek war.

As soon as he reached to one of the cities of the Vaegirs, he heard rumors of a civil war. Tensions grew between the lords as the rise of Prince Valdym “The Bastard” started making claims upon the throne. He had heard of this man, son of a noble whose father died when Valdym was a child and was left in the care of Yaroglek’s father, Burelek the previous king of the Vaegirs.

However Burelek executed Valdym’s mother, accusing her of adultery and declared Valdym a “bastard” – title that soon became a part of the claimant’s name.

To Luther, it was nothing more than a pathetic reason to ascend to the throne. A king who dwelled on the last would make a bad ruler. But the terrifying thing is, some of the citizens rallied behind Valdym, offering him support to his claim.

He received a letter from an old friend of the Vaegirs days before he departed from the steppes. Luther and Myra bought a few supplies from Reyvadin before he travelled to Rivacheg on horseback. He made there with haste, avoiding bounty hunters and Bjorn’s men who are still chasing them for weeks on end.

The tall buildings of the massive coastal city rose from the horizon. Its massive stone walls have been a staple of Vaegir architecture, armed with deadly defensive weapons such as the Ballista.

Luther and Myra went inside the city alongside a band of merchants. The sharp scent of spice and fish fills the air, to the far side of the city itself lies the largest harbor in all of Calradia where traders from all over the world would come and seek fortune, Zhou, Pendor and even the distant lands of Praevor.

Myra heads over to the nearest tavern and rented a room while Luther decided to wander around the streets, looking for supplies and to find his ‘old friend’.

He pulled his cloak closer to himself. The air is warmer than the rest of the Vaegir lands yet still cold even in the middle of the day. Luther saw Vaegir Guards standing vigilantly upon the walls of the city, Knights patrolling around the streets and a few of the infantrymen were tasked to help the citizens in their daily lives.

Luther waits at the harbor, looking at the ships that docked there. Buckets of fish were carried down by the hardworking fishermen, handed down to the people below – the main trade of the people of Rivacheg.

As he leaned against a wooden pole, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. He turned around and sees a man with a leather cap, his eyes were as gold as the sun while he wears a wolf pelt. “How’s it going friend?” the man said – Luther’s old companion.

“By the Heavens! Vane!” the mercenary greeted him, wrapping an arm around the man before he walked towards the nearest tavern. The smell of ale and wine fills the air, the sound of chattering men and women are just as common as any other taverns in Calradia – except in Rivacheg, it felt a lot more emptier.

Vane the Fury, a former mercenary serving for Tenusia’s king in their efforts against the powerful Volirian Empire. The Hydras of Lichdenberg and the Tigers of Wolfensburg are close allies in the war, but as the Empire began making preparations for a truce, he soon retired and became a wanderer.

The Tenusian took a sip of the warm drink in his glass, “How are things here? I heard that everything is…terrible,” Vane muttered, spinning his glass as his eyes looked down.

Luther sighed, “Everything is bad here, friend. Wars left and right.” He looked around, eyeing for any bounty hunters before returning his attention to Vane. “Do you remember the things that have been said about the famed Excalibur?”
Vane nodded.

“The sword recently reappeared after it has been lost for decades.” He said in a whisper, all while hiding the fact that he carried the famed weapon himself.

His eyes widened, “That sword meant a lot of things Luther. It could mean doom, it could mean salvation, it could be even something else.” Vane leaned forward, “Well, who has the sword?”

Luther remained silent before standing up from his seat. His heart felt heavy of hiding the truth from his old friend. But he knew, being the Seeker would mean a terrible journey ahead for those who travelled with him. “Follow me,”

The former mercenary lead Vane to where Myra rented their room. As they walked inside, a few beds of wool and animal skin were laid upon the ground, their weapons, clothing and armor were arranged on one corner. Luther picked the sword up by its hilt, stretching his arm towards Vane to show it to him.

His eyes looked at the weapon in shock before turning to Luther. His gaze shifted back and forth between the weapon and the former mercenary. “Is this it?”

Luther nodded, “But not anyone can pull the damned thing out from its sheath. Not even the kings that sat upon their own thrones,” he explained.

“Can I try?”

“No.” he said, shaking his head. “Loss and pain had brought our New Emperor to the fields stained by blood." Luther echoed the words spoken to him by the enigmatic Watcher herself. He is still clueless regarding who shall become the New Emperor.

“What?” Vane said in confusion as he heard those words.

“It…was a riddle of sorts,” he explained. He then continued to tell the Tenusian about the encounters with the Watcher, of how he came into possession of the Excalibur itself and how he was bestowed the duty of searching the New Emperor of Calradia. How he was now a fugitive running from the bounty hunters and the Executioner of the Rhodoks himself.

Vane looked at him, partly sympathized for the burden he would face to carry upon his shoulders. The veteran knight of Tenusia took a deep breath of the cold air, he was speechless. To see the legendary sword before his eyes is an amazing sight, but to see his friend would suffer in the foreseeable future just because of carrying the duty of a Seeker made him sympathize for Luther.

“Luther,” he called out, taking off his leather cap and lets down his fiery red hair fall down on his face like a stream of flames. “Is this why you called me here? For me to help you?”

The Seeker remained silent but his eyes said everything. Vane opened his mouth, “I’ll help you.” The Tenusian said. “Calradia is a beautiful place anyway. But seeing it ravaged by war would be terrible. The Vaegirs are the only ones that managed to secure peace for a long time and we both know that it won’t last.”

“I just don’t want anybody else to get hurt. I know my journey just began, but the journey ahead is cold and terrible. With flames of wrath and greed would chase us down until we are on the edge of the Abyss.” Luther sighed, taking a deep breath as it steamed in the cold air of the room. The sword in his hand felt heavy, just like his burden to seek out the savior of Calradia. “But if I don’t do this, Calradia will fall into oblivion. Forgotten.”

Vane scoffed, crossing his arms. “We are all in pain. Isn’t that why we kept on moving forward? Pain?” he said. “Then we’ll do this together.” He stretched out his hand, putting it on Luther’s shoulder.

The mercenary gulped, felt relieved as his friend offers him his assistance but still worried about the future. A perilous journey awaits, “Thank you.”

The party rested in Rivacheg for the next few days, all while gathering information of what has been happening in the kingdom and through out the land. The tavern keeper heard of a new mercenary company coming from a land faraway has arrived near the docks of Shariz before making their way inland towards Durquba. They’ve sacked the former capital of the Sarranids, sending a terrible warning to the Rhodoks while doing so.

Luther soon learnt of the Swadian army assembling and ready to go on the offensive. The Nords did the same, mustering an army that would represent the might of their people.

He knew that he was running out of time finding the New Emperor. War dawns upon the land of Calradia and doom shall arrive to the kingdoms like a serpent.
On the dawn of the tenth day in Rivacheg, Luther, Vane and Myra packed their belongings before they depart from the harbor city. The city gates were lifted and they passed through.

Once outside, they find themselves staring at thousands of banners carrying the King’s sigil, a bear running on a white field. Luther saw men carrying shields and spears, he saw knights on top of their steeds and archers with their quiver filled with arrows.

They walked away from the massive army lead by the King himself – Yaroglek. As they are farther away from the city, the army of the King was full in display for them. The army was large enough to fill up a whole field, their banners flapped in the cold winds in the North. This could only mean one thing.
The Vaegirs are ready for war.

“That’s a huge army.” Myra remarked, looking at the massive force waiting outside the walls of Rivacheg as she looked upon them on a distant hill.

“I’d estimate around two or three thousand men. But I could be wrong,” the redhead spoke. “This is just one army. The whole Vaegir force shall be here soon considering Yaroglek’s here. The marshal could be in those walls, waiting for the rest of the lords to arrive.”

Then they left the vicinity of Rivacheg. It wasn’t long before the Vaegirs soon allied themselves with the Khergits in an attempt to retake Ichamur from the Sarranids. Considering that the Sultanate’s might had grew militarily, the Vaegirs felt threatened by its rising power in the east. More so than their terrifying neighbors, the Nords.

The party soon headed towards Reyvadin, with Luther purchasing a few dozen mercenary soldiers to aid them in their journey and recruited a few Vaegir peasants from the surrounding villages to strengthen their travelling party with the strength of only fifty men.

Luther knew that raising a small war band would attract the attention of lords of the surrounding nations. But it was more than necessary to keep themselves safe from the threat of bandits and looters that prowled through the lands in search for innocent victims.

They marched into the land of the Nords and managed to fend off a few looters, bandits and deserter parties that threatened them for a pack of silver and gold. They answered with cold, unstained steel.

As the rest of them marched into the woods of Jelbegi, one of their scouts spotted something. The young man returned from his duty and rushed towards Luther’s side as he was assigned as a scouting party. “Luther, sir!”

The Seeker turned around and dropped down from his steed, “Report, scout.” He said to him, keeping a calm demeanor.

“I saw banners coming from behind us sir! They were at least a few hundred strong sir! Apparently we were followed,” the scout reported.

Bounty hunters? No, those men would not amassed a party that large to hunt him down. Looters? They won’t carry banners of their own. Not even the deserters as they have stripped themselves of any connections with their previous commander.

“Boy! Tell me, whose banners did you saw?” Vane said as he rode closer towards Luther and the scout.

The young man gulped, gripping the sling of his quiver tight. “It was Aer – no, it was…Ragnar’s!”

Luther’s eyes widened and the rest locked at each other in shock. The king of the Nords chasing them down himself was not a good thing. They haven’t done anything to harm their villages nor did they sack one of their smaller settlements. It was at the time that Luther knew, that Ragnar has interested in him – no, it was the sword that he carried. Excalibur.

“We head into Swadian territory!” Luther shouted to his men, fearing that their lives would be massacred by the sheer force of the Nord king.

They made out of the vicinity of Jelbegi with haste and avoided the castle that was up upon the hills. Luther and the rest of the party reached the Forests of Ibiran, only to be pursued by Ragnar as the king never gave up in his chase.
But Luther’s men were exhausted, their journey is slowed down by exhaustion at the time they have reached the forests. Scouts reported by each passing day that Ragnar is closing in on their position and a fight between them would be inevitable.

Some of the men left the party as they would not want to waste their lives upon a nameless glory. Some of them stayed but with fear. Luther does what he did best and tried to lead them away from the forests.

At dawn, the deafening sounds of horns were heard in the distance. Luther and the rest of his men jumped and quickly armed themselves as they searched for their surroundings for the impending doom.

The leaves rustled against one another and the wind blew silently. It was silent after the horn blew for the first time and the mercenaries were on their guard, frantically looking around for any enemies.

An arrow whooshed through the air, hitting one of the mercenaries in the arm. The attack begins. A few other of them cuts through the air and find their marks as three of Luther’s men fell dead upon the ground. “Run!” Luther shouted.

Vane, Myra and Luther sprinted away from the forests. The men did the same. What drives them at the moment was fear and the will to survive. All thoughts of glory disappeared, only death was on their minds.

Arrows shot by the archers flew through the air and axes struck the soldiers at their backs as they were thrown by the huscarls. The Nord soldiers charged down the hills and slaughtered those who are unlucky enough to get close to them.

The mercenary stood no chance against the raging might of the Nords, against their cold steel. Ragnar’s roar can be heard as he charged down as well, barking out orders to his men as he relentlessly pursued Luther for the famed sword.

They ran, passing through the trees and into the edge of the forests. Luther breathed heavily, killing a few of the soldiers who were on horseback – mercenary cavalry, no doubt. But as Luther and the remainder of his men finally stepped onto the flat green plains outside the woods, the Seeker saw black banners flapped in the wind.

“Oh no,” he uttered before narrowing his eyes to see the images on the banners clearer.

It was a red rose on a field of black.

A Swadian army.



AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well here is chapter 15! If you are thinking what Deckard's banner would look like, click here. If I'm not mistaken, the same banner also appears in PoP? I forgot since the last time I've played PoP was last year before I lost my games.

In the next chapter, there will be a large battle and don't worry, I'll have screenshots for this since I've done the battle before xD. In my game, I was fighting the full force of the Nord army with just almost 200 men. Luckily, I managed to survive three battles (not waves) and was forced to retreat.

Don't worry, the battle won't follow what I experienced in the game. I just use the screenshots I took and use it here.

What do you think of this chapter? Any suggestions? We'll be ending Book 1 very soon

 

[ArnulfFloyd]

Very interesting

You can try latest version of Pendor which currently is 3.9.2, are many new things and fixes compared to previous versions including firearms, a new KO and reskinned armours

If you are interested in my AAR:

https://forums.taleworlds.com/index.php/topic,376893.0.html

 

[Stormfall_03]

Chapter 16: The Wrath of Swadia​

Deckard Winters,
The forests of Ibiran,
8th year of Harlaus’ reign on the Swadians,​

The lords began mustering their forces for a massive offensive campaign against the Nords, gathering soldiers up into the thousands as they recruited volunteers and mercenaries into their ranks. All for the idea of protecting the lands of Swadia from the Nords of the North.

Deckard had managed to gain a force of a few hundred strong, with Swadian Knights and Sergeants armed with the most deadliest weapons they have in their arsenal – spears, swords, halberds, war axes and others. But they all carried the banner of the rose – the Crimson Rose.

As Deckard and his army marched from village to village, occasionally encountering small scout parties and Nord vassals who dared touched their land, he decided that he should venture a bit deeper into Nord territory.
He marched near the woods of Ibiran and it took him a few days to reach as he departed from Suno. His men, eager to spill Nord blood constantly kept their eyes peeled and ears out for the sound of the enemy.

The Praevorian marched near the edge of the forest at the dawn of the day and heard the dying screams of men and sound of rustling grass coming from the forest, followed by the thousand roars of angry men as if they hunger for battle and bloodshed.

“Deckard,” Firentis rode closer towards his commander. “I think it’s them,” he said.

Deckard nodded and ordered his crossbowmen to load their weapons and aimed at the forest, firing on his signal.

He waited and waited. Moments later, soldiers emerged from the thick forests of Ibiran, exhausted and broken, bloodied and injured as if they have been attacked by demons. “Hold!” Deckard shouted to his men. The soldiers kept on running, their faces told him that there were trouble in the woods.

A few of them dropped near the army in exhaustion, some almost died because of the injuries sustained. Arrows protruded behind their backs, crimson blood stained their silver armor and the signs of combat were apparent on the men’s physical condition – they were ambushed.

“Jeremus, treat those who are injured. Bring them back to Suno if you will, take some of the men to come with you.” He said to his companion and he promptly carried out his orders.

One of them, tried to stand and walked towards Deckard, limping as an arrow sticking out from his thigh. His breaths heavy, his arms trickled with blood as he hold onto Deckard’s saddle. The Praevorian dismounted and looked at the man, “What happened?” he asked.

“A-ambushed,” he replied. The man winced in pain with the arrow still pierced through the flesh of his leg.

Ragnar’s men emerged from the woods as they chased down the man’s comrades, some of them injured and still had the chance to survive. The Nord king halted his army at the sight of Deckard’s men, “Swadian!” he called out, “Hand him over! The sword must be destroyed!”

Deckard exchanged glances with the Nord king then to the man near him. The man pants heavily as takes away both of his swords that he carried on his back before he held the one with the black sheath in his hands. “This,” the man’s hands trembled. “He wanted this.”

He looked down at the sword with amazement, to see such fine sword in a sheath intricately decorated with patterns and ancient runes could be a relic of the past. One that had a lot of significance to the land itself. “Why would he want this?” Deckard looked at Ragnar, who is waiting for the Praevorian’s response.

“This…is the key to save Calradia,” the man dropped on his knees, his legs are weak from the running. “I must…give it…to the New Emperor,” he said before falling unconscious from extreme exhaustion.

Deckard bent down and picked up the black sheathed swords, slinging it onto his bag before ordering a few of the recruits to bring the injured man away from the fields.

“Whatever he says to you are lies! That sword meant doom upon us all. The gods warned the monks of its terrible consequences and with its sudden reemergence, the Nord Scholars knew that doom would come upon us all!” Ragnar’s voice was loud and deep, radiating with a sense of urgency to his words. “But if you wish to protect the man, then so be it!” the Wolf King had other agendas, wanting to give the sword and the man that carried it to the Rhodoks instead in order to establish a lasting impression between the two nations.

At that instance, Ragnar’s archers nocked their arrows and aimed at Deckard’s men. The Praevorian’s crossbowmen set their sights upon them. Each side ready for the coming battle, ready to unleash a terrible hail of missiles upon one another.

“Hand him over!” Ragnar shouted once more. His huscarls formed up a solid line behind him, with spears and swords and axes thirsts for Swadian blood.

Deckard was forced to make a decision. Facing the might of the king of the Nords would be fatal but if they emerge victorious, the Swadians could have the chance to land a devastating blow to the northern kingdom. Words that contradicted one after the other, is it a way to save Calradia? Or is it the key to the downfall of the land?

He pulled out his sword from its sheath, as long as his forearm and a hilt that allowed him to wield with two hands. Its pommel is carved in the shape of a dragon, in an attempt to honor his family in Praevor.

Deckard took a deep breath, “Soldiers of the Crimson Rose!” he shouted to his men to which they responded with a collective ‘Aye!’.

Ragnar’s archers let their arrows loose and immediately, Deckard ordered his crossbowmen to unleash hell upon them. His infantrymen raised their shields and marched as a single, impenetrable unit while the crossbowmen provided them covering fire.

The infantrymen charged​

Axes and javelins flew across the air as the huscarls and skirmishers threw them. Some of them killed the marching infantrymen, striking them in their hearts while a few managed to shatter their shields.

The huscarls soon clashed with the might of the soldiers of the Crimson Rose. Roars of war and glory were heard across the field as if the lions of Swadia had unleash their fury upon the wolves of the Nords. They fight. They fight as the Nords gave their all into defeating an army of a mere Swadian noble. They fight as if this battle was their last.

Ragnar killed a few of Luther’s own men with his two axes held in each hand, carrying a sword that’s almost a long as his own height on his back. He lets out a loud war cry and charged into the first line of the advancing Swadian troops, followed by a large number of huscarls following closely behind him.
The Wolf King slaughtered the Swadians left and right, planting his axes into their skulls as blood stained his helmets and armor.

A second line of infantrymen was quickly formed near Deckard’s position. He gets up on his horse and draws his blade, lifting his hand into the air as a signal to get his cavalrymen ready. His crossbowmen picked off any huscarls that are unlucky enough to get caught within their sights.

As the first line of infantrymen fails, the huscarls charged through the hole made by the raging Nords. Deckard swings his sword down and charged alongside his cavalrymen.

Thousand of hooves made the ground quake with every step. The pebbles rattle as the knights of Swadia couched their spears and lances, charging against the huscarls. One of the knights had pierced a huscarl in the throat before swinging his spear sideways to throw away the corpse of the dead Nord.

The cavalry charged in like a wave of battering rams ready to break their brittle bones and at a time. Heads fly and smeared their armors with blood as the knights swung their swords to the huscarls.

The cavalry charged in​

Deckard saw Ragnar slaughtering more of his men. He faced Ragnar on his steed with his shield up on one hand and the other ready to swing. He charged ahead against the Wolf King while the Nord fought against his Sergeants and dismounted Knights with a terrifying ferocity and violence.

King Ragnar noticed Deckard charging at him, dropping both of his axes on the ground. His fingers twitch and blood of his enemies trickled down his gauntlets and to the tip of his fingers. He pulled out his large great sword on his back, it was as large as himself, a blade made out of the finest steel and forged by the best master blacksmiths of the Nordic kingdom. It was the Heart of Ice, an heirloom passed down from generations.

The sheer weight of the sword is considered to be a major disadvantage to those who’d wield it. But with Ragnar’s tremendous strength, swinging it would be an easy task. Its hilt was made out of silver, its pommel was in the shape of a wolf – reminiscent of the title ‘Wolf King’.

As Deckard closed in, Ragnar took a deep breath and swung the massive sword with all of his strength towards the Praevorian’s steed. With a single swing, the blade was able to decapitate the horse’s head and threw Deckard off of it.

Luckily, his armor had stopped the terrifying impact of the blade but it was shattered in a single strike. He coughed and gasped for air as he rose on his two feet. But before he could even regain his balance, Ragnar strikes again. Deckard raised his shield almost instinctively but the Heart of Ice shattered it in one blow.

With every attack from Ragnar’s sword, Deckard stood no chance against the Wolf King. His sword broke after blocking multiple hits from the Heart of Ice. By the gods, how can I defeat this man? He thought to himself, his eyes fixed on the silver blade of the Heart. There no stains of blood even after managing to land a few hits to Deckard, it’s as if the sword drinks the blood of its enemies.

Deckard grabbed the hilt of the black sheathed sword he carried on his back and waited for the right moment to strike. As Ragnar swings the Heart, aiming for Deckard’s neck, the Praevorian pulled out the sword from its sheath and blocked the sword.

Ragnar’s eyes widened as he looked at the sword that Deckard had just pulled out. On its blade, there were ripple effects just like the surface of water with the ancient Calradic runes were etched upon the broadside of the weapon. “The sword!” the Nord King shouted in surprise.

Deckard ignored him and continued to fight with the blade. He lets all of his emotions to drive the Wolf King back as it seems that he had a chance to finally retaliate against his powerful blows.

The Heart and the sword held in Deckard’s hands clashed, its sounds were loud and clear. Clear enough to be heard from a distance. Whenever Ragnar swings his own weapon, it howls almost like the wolves in the winter cold. Clashed against the steel of the sword in Deckard’s grip, its impacts were loud as the roaring dragons of the old tales.

Deckard swung his sword and its force knocked off the Heart of Ice from Ragnar’s hands. The Wolf King stumbled backwards before Deckard attempted to drive the blade of the weapon into the king’s heart. Ragnar stopped it with his bare hands.

The king felt the warmth of the sword’s steel, his hands were slippery with all the blood and the tip of its blade touches Ragnar’s throat. “Yield!” Deckard said. “Or your men will be slaughtered!”

Ragnar looked around and saw his huscarls, his archers, his best mercenaries were overwhelmed by the Swadians. He thought that their strength would be enough to fight against a fully trained and fully equipped army. He was partially right at least, his army had at least killed or knocked unconscious half of Deckard’s men. But he lacked the tactical superiority that the Swadians have.

He saw his huscarls dying left and right, his archers were bombarded by a torrent of arrows and bolts, killed by the Sergeants. His blue banners were stained with the red coat of blood, flapping in the wind as the army fought in the name of the king.

His eyes told him of the madness that is war. He saw chaos yet for years he bathe in its sea of blood and torment. His men risked their lives for the kingdom but not for his own foolish desires. Ragnar soon realized that the battle began due to his obsessiveness to the sword that rests in Deckard’s hands.

“End this madness.” Deckard said once again, almost as if he was begging.
Ragnar pushed away the sword, dropping his head before taking a look at his men once more. The Wolf King yielded in an attempt to save his men – it seems that he too cared about the soldiers that served him.



The Wolf King had been defeated. His army shattered by the might brought upon by the Swadians at the Forests of Ibiran. The villages and taverns will sing the songs of praise to the Champion of Swadia for defending their lands once more. Deckard had let Ragnar go, only for the fact that he had shown subtle signs that he cared about his men.

He visited the man who was being treated in the infirmary inside the walls of Praven. He held the sword in hand, his eyes looking upon the blade’s steel. He ran his fingers upon it and felt warm and heat just by touching even in the cold night. Then Deckard realized, that the one in his hand was the Sword of Kings itself.

“How is he?” the Praevorian asked as one of the junior apothecaries walked out after inspecting the man’s conditions as he slid the sword back into its sheath.

“Don’t worry. He’ll be fine. He was in a coma for a few days ever since your friend Jeremus sent him to Suno before he was transferred here at Praven. Perhaps he was poisoned but luckily, it wasn’t deadly enough to kill him.” The apothecary replied. “The Nords are known to use venoms with their weapons although not as common as it used to like decades ago, even before the Empire falls,”

“Thank you,”

The young boy nodded before he left the room with a set of parchments in his hands. Probably it was his medical report or his research on something. Deckard wasn’t an apothecary nor a scholar to know what it was.

The Praevorian pulled the Sword of Kings out from its sheath once more. It possesses a deadly beauty to it, exemplifying its greatness as he gazed on its ripple patterns and the runic text etched on a small part on the blade, small enough to be missed with a first glance.

The man woke up and winced in pain as he grabbed his thigh. The apothecaries have treated his wounds sustained during his escape from Ragnar, stating that he only suffered moderate wounds.

The man turned and is shocked to see Deckard. “Hey, you’re here!” he spoke out. His eyes widened to see the Praevorian with the sword out from its black sheath. His jaw dropped in disbelief, leaving him speechless.

“Yes. I was going to return this sword to – “

“Y-you’re…t-the,” the man stuttered as he tried to find his words to speak. He gulped, “the New Emperor!”

The door room bursts opened as a young boy, no more than 20 years old, wearing the uniform of a messenger – red and brown with an armband that carried the symbol of a star – a new recruit for the kingdom’s royal Kingslayer as it seems. The boy pants and took deep breaths before looking into Deckard’s eyes, “Lord Deckard!” he addressed the noble, he stood straight and saluted. “Your presence is needed at the castle halls at once, sir!”

Deckard turned away from the man with the Sword of Kings in his hand. “Why am I needed?”

“The king just received word from Ehlerdah, that Lady Isolla of Suno is marching upon Praven!”



AUTHOR'S NOTES: There you have it! Chapter 16 is up and running!

For this chapter, I aim to set up larger plot structures for the upcoming chapters. If you wish to think of this as a teaser, sure go ahead. If you think that our character would have an easy ride uniting all of Calradia, you are wrong. There are consequences to their actions, the "prophecy" will have its own consequences as well. Like how the lords would treat it. Would they support it? Or pass it off as blasphemy?

I will still mention things that appeared in other mod worlds. Just in case you guys missed the reference in previous chapters, here's the list (I only did a few though):

隐藏: References to mods

The Forlorn Hope. Mentioned in the chapter, "New Beginnings" by Sanjar Khan while discussing matters with King Graveth. It is a reference to Mettenheim from Prophesy of Pendor.
The Holy Avenger. Mentioned in the chapter, "Fall of Shariz" while first introducing the Sword of Kings. It was mentioned by the Watcher during Luther's vision after the siege.
Pendor. Obvious reference to the land of Pendor. Mentioned as one of the locations where merchants would come from and trade in Rivacheg in the chapter, "The Perilous Search".

For future chapters, I shall be introducing minor factions and perhaps expand on the vague lore of Calradia itself. Maybe having a good 'ol civil war would make things up interesting?

So this concludes, Book 1: The Beginning

隐藏: Cover

Yes I know the pic is from Dark Souls but heavily edited. I like Dark Souls and most of its wallpapers make nice covers, albeit edited quite heavily to make things work XD.

Anyway...on to book 2! Don't worry, we'll use the same thread.

EDIT: Added in the screenshots!

 

[ArnulfFloyd]

Good job. I like that pic so much but I not have played Dark Souls. I will update my AAR someday

 

[Stormfall_03]

Looking forward to you updating your AAR! Having a "secret" relationship with Ymira makes for a good dynamic between the characters. Good luck on that one!

 

[ArnulfFloyd]

I not have updated AAR because my English is enough poor(I am from Romania) and I playing mods mostly Pendor everyday

 

[Stormfall_03]

Ah, I understand. But your words can still be understood so that's a good thing!

 

[Stormfall_03]

Chapter 17: Appeal To Their Trust​

Luther Ambrose,
The city of Praven,
8th year of Harlaus’ reign on the Swadians​

Luther sat in his room in disbelief. His sets his eyes upon the nobleman who carried the banner of the rose. Yet, he didn’t remember much of what happened after the time he fell unconscious during his attempt to escape from Ragnar. All he remembered was him visiting the Watcher once more.

He felt his hands trembled, his skin was pale as snow. He was still in shock to have found the New Emperor this soon. Immediately he knew that this nobleman must be told of the dangers that would find him.

You've found him

Luther jumped, he turned his head around and looked at the window beside his bed. His eyes looked upon the corporeal form of the Watcher, sitting down as she gazed upon Luther. “So you’ve finally met him,” she spoke.

The door to his room slammed shut as the night winds rushed inside with the appearance of the Watcher. “I don’t even know who that man was and he’s the New Emperor?”

“He is,” the being speaks again. “He is the one who will save the land.”

“How can you be so sure?” Luther asks. “What if he’s the one who will destroy the land? The one who will bring upon the twelve hells upon the people? What if – “

“He’s not the New Emperor?” the Watcher moves away from the window and walked towards Luther. A cold aura emanated from her, a chilling but a beautiful grace surrounds her. “The Sword of Kings has chosen its next wielder, the spirits of the past Emperors have made a decision that I could not deny.”

Luther watched her in silence, his gazed upon the Watcher’s eyes that possessed the sun’s golden beauty. “But…” her words turned grim as if she speaks of a terrible thing. “A terrible war shall descend upon the land, pitting king against king, brother against brother, father against son. The sudden revelation of the New Emperor shall plunge the land into utter chaos,”

“The kings of the land won’t let this get away easily. They’ll have to fight for their throne,” Luther muttered. “The burning flames of peril shall consume everything in its sight, is it not?”

The Watcher nodded and gazed outside the window with a certain melancholy to her eyes. “Uniting all of the nations would be a near impossible task for him to carry out by himself.” She said, “He’ll need allies, he’ll have to gain the trust of the people.” She continued and sighed, “But let’s not forget about the knights of the Immortal Sun that stood vigilant at the eastern walls at the deserts. The Exiled will come to end all life on this land and we must not let it happen.”

Luther nodded, understanding the consequences of declaring the nobleman as the New Emperor. He understands that if he was crowned king without the trust of the people, the New Empire will crumble as fast as it rose from the ashes of its former glory.

The Watcher turned her head to face Luther, a subtle smile crept onto her face. “I know your duty as the Seeker is tough. But I ask you this,” she held Luther’s hands with her white fingers, “Be someone that the New Emperor can trust. You have lived a life of war and knew how devastating it was to the common folk.” Her eyes glistened, tears trickled down her cheek as she speaks.

Luther noticed but refrained himself from saying a word. The Watcher wiped her tears off before replacing her sadness with a smile, “Guide him. Help him to unite the lands.” She continued.

“I will,” he looked down.

She smiled before disappearing in a cloud of white. At the moment, Luther felt the warmth of her hands as if she was alive. But her eyes spelt something different – death. The embodiment of the aspect of life and death herself.

He then walked out of the room and towards the blacksmiths, buying a cheap but a rigid leather armor before purchasing a short sword. Luther began preparing himself for the next few days, attempting to contact the nobleman from before but to no avail. “The Champion of Swadia is busy attending to the matters of the realm,” said by the guards at the castle gates as he asked them one time.

The empty streets of Praven at dawn​

So he waited. Walking around the streets and attempting to eavesdrop to gather information regarding the current situation of the land. He heard that the Rhodoks had sent the Executioner to lead his armies into Sarranid territories, perhaps to deal with the latest band of mercenaries hired by the Sultan.

There were news of the Swadian claimant – Lady Isolla of Suno was marching for Praven with a large force of mercenaries hired from across the land. Others talk about ‘pointy-eared folks’ have docked in various shores, but rumors remained rumors until it has been proved.

The people talked about the lords, some about their cruelty while others praised their good-natured reputation among the people. Perhaps spreading the word would be a good start for the New Emperor to gain the trust of the people. Luther thought.

He saw a man standing on a small wooden crate and large crowds of people gathered around him. It seemed that he was preaching about religion, especially the Old Faith. The people listened carefully to the man’s words while others walked away with disinterest.

Luther knew what he had to do. He looked around and grabbed a few wooden crates. He stood up and looked to his surroundings, hoping that he would attract the people to hear his words. His chest raised as he took a deep breath, “Hear me! People of Swadia!” he called out. “The land is in great peril! The flames of war and destruction have taken away our peace, men and women and children died by each passing day as conflict swept through the land like a plague,”

“Hear me out and worry not! For there is a savior for us all!” he said, his voice boomed across the markets and reached the ears of the townsfolk. In a few seconds, they began to form a small crowd near Luther. “The one they call the New Emperor will unit us all and would usher in a new age of prosperity, there would be no wars, no more bloodshed and no more deaths!”

Some of them listened, hoping that Luther’s words were the truth. Some passed it off as blasphemy, seeing that there is no hope for the salvation of Calradia. A few of them walked away while others stayed and listened. Luther told them of the Watcher and of the legendary Sword of Kings. He told them of the legends that surrounds the blade itself and told the people what to expect from their coming savior.

It’s the least he could do. To spread the word about the New Emperor would probably be slightly enough to ease the burden of their coming ruler.

The crowd dispersed as Luther finishes his speech. He saw Vane and Myra standing near the crowd, watching him. Myra walked up to him, her arm bandaged after her arm was struck by a throwing axe. “Never knew you were a bard,” she snorts.

“What’s this? A mercenary turned bard? Now that’s something I never see before,” Vane laughed. He fared much better than Myra, he didn’t suffer any critical wounds such as her but almost succumbed to his demise after being poisoned by an arrow.

Luther laughed, lightly punching Vane’s shoulder in response. “Always the joker eh?” he looked down at Myra before shifting his eyes to her injured arm. “How is it?”

The young apothecary puts a cheerful smile on her face, “It’s not that bad. I can still walk and do my chores,” her golden hair falls on her shoulder as she tilted her head. She breathes in, “So, what are you going to do next?”

Luther shrugged, “I don’t know. I wanted to meet the nobleman who saved us a few days ago,”

Myra raised an eyebrow, “The nobleman? You mean Lord Deckard of Praevor?”
He nods. “He’s the one we’ve been looking for.”

“How do you know it’s him?” the red-haired man asked.

Luther recalled what the Watcher said to him during her previous visit that the spirits of the Old Emperors are the ones who decided who shall become the ruler of Calradia. “You’re saying that…the old rulers literally chose him? And the sword is basically a way for them to hand down the legacy?” Vane crossed his arms and his head bobbed at every question.

“Pretty much.”

“But…how is he supposed to be king? If you just start telling him to revolt and declare independence, there would be no chance for him to unite all the lands and cease all means of conflict,” Myra intervened with her questions.

Luther pats her on her shoulder, “That’s why we have to help him gain the trust of the people. Have them believe in him that he can unite the kingdoms. Spread the word, through stories or songs. What he needed is the trust of the people.”

He then heard the sound of galloping horses coming from the entrance of the city and rushed towards the castle halls. They wore a red brigandine wearing the sigil of an eagle on their shoulders – one of the Swadian lords’ men no doubt.
Luther saw them entered the castle courtyards and head inside before disappearing as they enter its halls. Perhaps it was something urgent.

Outside the walls of Praven​

It took Luther a few more days to be able to meet Deckard once more. He waited outside the city gates and saw him riding on his steed as he sets his eyes to the lands beyond the hills. He was accompanied by his two companions, one of red hair, not more than his middle ages while the other seemed to be older than both Deckard and the first fellow.

“Lord Deckard!” Luther called out as he approached him. The lord and his two comrades stopped as they looked at him. “It’s me, the man from before. The one who…brought you that sword.” He pointed at Excalibur that was carried on Deckard’s back.

“It’s good to see you in a good condition.” He said. His face is obscured with a full helmet. “What is it that you need?”

Luther regained his composure at the sight of the Sword of Kings. He still finds himself unable to believe that the one in front of him was the destined New Emperor but nevertheless, he has to trust him. “I need to talk to you,”

Deckard tilted his head, “About what?”

“About becoming the New Emperor of Calradia,”



AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry if the chapter's a bit too short than usual. This time, I wanted to implement the "right to rule" system into the narrative and wanted to explore how it would work in the story. Nothing's happening a lot in this chapter, but in the next one there will be action and stuff.

Credits to The Bowman for creating the Native Replacement Pack. I haven't got any screenshots of Praven in my game yet so I had to take it from here. You will not regret downloading this mod. It makes the towns a bit more natural while the siege scenes are way larger than usual, it's still the same towns you've visited during the times it hasn't been besieged.

With this chapter, Book 2 officially begins! Click down for cover. Pic is originally from Demon's Souls this time.

隐藏: Cover for Book 2: The Rebellion