“Many have debated the great question of ‘The Echo Wars’; Why did the Dwarven Kings shut themselves away from the surface world? It was a war fought in the forgotten darkness of countless Kraks, Strongholds and Byforts, all now lost to the annals of history. Nothing but names etched onto the Archive Fortress of Borviki. Yet, it is through those same records of lost cities that we notice a pattern emerging. Though many suspect noble altruism that spurred the dwarven peoples to cut themselves off from the outside world to contain the threat, the possibility of sabotage must not be discounted when we look at which fjallheims were most affected. When viewing their isolation from that lens, we start to see that many of the routes cut lay suspiciously close to ancient human cities. Humans that would certainly aim to preserve their own safety, perhaps at the expense of the dwarven race as a whole.”
- Volnar Ironheart, Castellen of the Stali Wardens, “A People’s Struggle: The Echoes of Betrayal”
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
She remembered the talks that the children of the clans once shared. Tales told over the clan hearths of years long past, of the lost vagdain, the wanderer who had traveled between tribes and did the best they could to help the peoples of the mountains. He had slain wild beasts, monsters, and even a frost giant if rumors were to be believed. They were tales of adventure and kindness, of heroism and gallantry. Tales that had once seen Aryana daydreaming about her own adventure, about a day when she could break free from the tribe, to leave and follow her own path. To become a wanderer like the man from the tales, quiet, collected, but most importantly, alone on the road. How strange it was to her now, that she had found herself twisted into a grim journey that threatened the fate of Cyndralia in its entirety. Here she was, set about on her own adventure and yet, as her eyes glazed over the map table in front of her, all she could think of was how different things would have been had she faltered and remained home.
Perhaps she would be with the others, settling the lands granted to them by the king of Melton. Or perhaps she simply would’ve cowered in her home, stuck with the same routine until the monsters that the tribes were fleeing from finally caught up to her. As she stood now, she couldn’t help but feel a small pang of regret at having left home, at having left her own world behind. She was grateful for the others she had met on her journey, that was certain. However, she was just as certain about herself. That she was not some cool, collected leader like Annalise; a cold, calculating warrior like Mila; or even the brave, noble heroine that seemed to be Sophie. No, Aryana knew herself, and she knew that deep down, there was one thing she wouldn't be. That despite the Frostfyre’s prophecies that she would become the fiery twisted witch that brought about the world’s end; that she was nothing more than a meek soul who yearned for nothing more than the comforts of life without hardship. That was one path she would refuse to take.
Still, when Sir Danneth glanced at her once more, she felt that tiny spark within her rekindle. Here was the man who had once braved the wilderness to aid tribes that were all but strangers to him. The one who she had heard tales of, the strange hero that aided the tribes before vanishing once more, his duty fulfilled. To Arteria evidently. There was a certain expectation in his gaze, not one of duty or obligation to save the city, but a knowing look that said that deep within her, she was here not fully on her own volition. Because I’m here just to help Sophie, if I even can do anything.
After almost an hour of constant bickering and examination, she had finished relaying her story to Sir Danneth the Wanderer, who in turn informed the rest. The kind captain that had given her the incident report then filled everyone in on things that had happened since then, offering Aryana a small, but encouraging, nod of acknowledgement whilst he spoke. Her heart had, at least, calmed since she first entered this room. The past month and then some of her time with Sophie had placed her squarely in a world where the old tongues were no longer required. It felt nostalgic and soothing to have been able to converse with someone who understood her words. That wasn’t even counting the fact that she had spoken with a legend of the clan. And he had placed his faith in me, absolute madness.
The meeting had concluded with a plan that hinged on her participation, for her to lure the rogue scholar back out into the open. For her to be bait. It was a decision that had almost split the room before Guildmaster Jorrick convinced the majority of guild officials to at least give it a shot. As for the issue of Aryana herself, the legion firmly supported Sir Danneth and thus her, but amongst the guild officials, most of them objected to depend on an outsider, an untrained one too most of all. Still, with some cajoling, they reluctantly acquiesced and foistered her off on a sullen looking guild official who just glared at the guildmaster. The others had then been promptly dismissed, leaving just the guildmaster, the official, Roswin, the legionaries, and herself.
“So, you’ve got something to tell us?” The official finally spoke up, her scratchy voice catching Aryana off guard, “And we’re supposed to just trust this squeamish fuck?” The official gestured at her, making her flinch.
“That is the plan.” Jorrick calmly replied.
“Huh.” The official grunted before turning towards Aryana, “So why’re you even here, you said your piece already.”
“F-friend.” Aryana mumbled.
“Friend? You really just doing this for your friend?”
“Y-yes?”
“Pffft, that’s it? What you said during the meeting was it? About why you’re in Arteria?”
“Yes?”
“Huh.” The official sighed, “Fair enough. Guess there are really some naive idiots out there. You do know you might die, right?”
“I-I do.” Aryana nodded, though the thought of danger horrified her.
“Well… I guess it's your funeral. Not that you'll get hurt. After all, I’m here to look after your sorry ass in the field. That means after we find the guy, you listen to me and only to me. I tell you to run, you run. I tell you to freeze and drop to the floor to hide? You better stop moving and hug the ground. Got it?” The official growled.
“Y-yes. Of c-course!”
The official snorted but otherwise remained silent, the brief lull prompting Jorrick to clap his hands and regain everyone’s attention.
“Now then, if we have no more problems let me lay this to you all here straight. None of what I say is to leave this room, got it?” Jorrick’s voice dropped to a more serious tone as he met everyone’s haze.
A chorus of nods responded and he looked to Danneth who just gestured for him to continue.
“Some of you might already have had an inkling about this, but the guild has been compromised from within.”
The legionaries traded surprised glances with each other whilst the official and Roswin looked uncomfortable at the new information being shared. Jorrick let it settle before he continued.
“Lady Frostfyre here-”
“Just Aryana.” Sir Danneth spoke up.
“Huh?”
“Her name, that is. Clan politics.” The old legionary just stated before he flashed Aryana a small knowing nod. She in turn offered a relieved smile in response.
“Err… alright then, Lady Aryana here happens to have come with a silver ranked group called Runebound. Their main representative, a ranger called Annalise, had personally delivered a letter confirmed by the guild branch in Sturmbreaker urging us to begin a transition to Priority Three procedures. They have written under the assumption that corrupted elements have infiltrated our ranks and are seeking to disrupt our activities, particularly when we are at our most vulnerable. As in the case with Melton and Carrador.”
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
“Priority three…” Roswin whistled, “that serious?” He asked the guildmaster.
“That’s what it sounds like if everything turns out to be true. As of last week, another group, the Slender Swords delivered a backup missive from Sturmbreaker after encountering goblin hordes roaming the Ascari countryside and assisting local forces in dispatching them.”
“Same message?”
“Aye, pretty much identical. They said they were the backup in case things didn’t pan out."
“And we trust them?” The official interrupted.
“Mmm, there’s always an element of doubt. But this time… I am inclined to believe them.”
The legionaries just watched the exchange though Sir Danneth nodded along as if he had expected this. His eyes looked at the map when he tapped the table and let out a small chuckle.
“That’s why you had all of us here.” Sir Danneth stated, “You’re seeing if we’ll get ambushed trying to pull off the ambush.”
Jorrick solemnly nodded. A test? He was testing the others!
“Not what I would’ve done but fair enough.” Danneth stroked his beard, “I’ll have the scouts keep an eye on Brightfields, last I heard the trail ends there, I’ll dispatch a second squadron too then, if you don’t mind. Just in case the guild isn’t the only one compromised.”
“Heh,” Jorrick let out a grim chuckle, “fair enough. Anything else?”
“One more issue. Mountain child.” Danneth turned towards Aryana.
“Uh? Huh!” She mumbled in acknowledgement.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this? The legion and the guild are more than capable of handling this. Your presence might make this operation easier, though it isn't mandatory.”
“O-of course!”
“Hmm… very well. No objections from me then, Jorrick. The legion stands ready to assist.”
“Mmhmm. Roswin, I need you to stay here and get what you can ready for Priority Three.”
The grouchy man just crossed his arms and nodded at the guildmaster, “It shall be done.”
“Good. Then Kerry, I’ll have you take point on the field ops.”
“Mmhmm.” The official nodded.
“Don’t worry,” Jorrick turned to Aryana, “Kerry here is the captain of the Entombed Slayers. They’re a platinum level team, they’ll get the job done.”
Platinum? Didn’t Sophie say platinum and adamtine were the top teams? But why is she dressed like a staffer? Is this lady secretly really powerful?
“Don’t need to frown kid,” The official, Kerry piped up, “my group will get you in and out just fine. That’s a guarantee.”
“Danneth, anything you want to add from your end?” Jorrick asked.
“Hmm… not particularly, I think you’ve got almost everything covered. Of course though, Captain Kerry, should you need it, I’ll have Captain Monsitori here on overwatch with a squadron of riders.” Danneth gestured at the kind captain.
The man in question just bowed deeply and the adventurer seemed satisfied enough.
“Major Veiran here will also be my liaison with you, Guildmaster, lest either of you have concerns about that arrangement?”
“That should suffice.” Jorrick replied.
“No questions here, sir.” The third legionary officer finally spoke up, his calculating yet quiet demeanor unnerving Aryana slightly.
“Good.” Jorrick clapped his hands together once more, “Then Kerry, Lady Fros-Aryana, see to it you are ready to depart from the North Gate within the hour. Roswin, have the preparations made. Danneth, I’ll expect a report from the Major here before the day ends. Now let’s get to it people! If your intel is right Danneth, I’ll be more than cross if we lose the only lead we have to this whole saint damned disaster. May we be blessed by the stars. For the Guild! For Brotherhood!”
“For the Guild! For Brotherhood!”
“In the name of Arteria and the Lucky Clover!”
The two sides gave their battle cries and suddenly, Aryana felt dangerously out of place.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Kerrian Roche or Kerry had been transformed in front of Aryana’s eyes. Where once a sullen brown haired bureaucratic looking guild official stood, now there was a gallant adventurer dressed in half plate and sporting a cape that hummed with ethereal magics that surrounded it. The low buzz sending tingles down Aryana’s spine just being near to it. They traveled in a squad of six, seven counting Aryana herself, and she found that they felt almost superhuman in comparison to someone like her. The other members of The Entombed Slayers were even more decked out in enchanted gear. Runes, sigils, etchings, and even charm dangled or glowed all across their armours. All of it released an intoxicating hum of energy that constantly remained just out of her grasp, the tendrils licking her finger tips even as she held heavy onto the reins of her mount to steady herself.
Behind them were a baker's dozen worth of legionary guards, at the head of which was Captain Monsitori, the man now sported a scar across his face after their encounter with the rogue scholar at the library. Whereas the adventures traveled forward with a slight pep in their step, though stopping short of a good cheer, the guards on the other hand traveled forward with a solemn eerie silence between them. The noises that Aryana could hear consisted only of the hooves of their horses. Their faces too seemed dour but determined. For the adventurers, she reasoned, this was but another job, another monster to be slain. For the guards however, she could tell that much like herself, finding and bringing down this scholar was something personal. Hang in there Sophie, just a little bit more.
They had set off from their last camp roughly an hour ago, leaving about three hours before they reached Brightfields. She had rushed to meet them at the city gates after the meeting, a frantic race to set off before the scholar suspected anything was amiss. It had been a grueling advance through and through. Where she and Sophie had once taken the very same roads, filled with trepidation and excitement as they headed towards the city. This day was one of forced marches, where they pushed their mounts forward and covered almost a day's distance in half the time, stopping only for a brief hour to rest before moving once again.
Afternoon faded into evening, then twilight before the dawn crept up from the horizon once more. Yet, the warmth of the rising sun did little to assuage her fears, the slight nip in the air only grew chiller the longer she spent outside the city. It didn’t help that her task was simple: to try and ask questions about the Myndiri and the scholar in an attempt to get attention onto herself. A task that she found hard enough when done accidentally much less when trying to do so deliberately. Kerry had assured her of their skills and Aryana didn’t doubt that. She just doubted herself.
In an appreciated but not exactly inspiring attempt to cheer her up, Kerry had told her the origins of the Slayers. About how the six of them had wandered into an ancient Myndiri ruin and found themselves trapped by a cave in, eking out a meager existence for about two weeks before they burst through the other end of the dungeon with a vengeance, demolishing the undead sentinels left their from ages past. Though the adventurer had framed it as a heroic tale about defying the odds, all Aryana could think about was how she very much would like to avoid such a situation. Still, with tales of the past aside, Aryana found herself deeply unsettled by the present.
To her increasing horror however, her yesterday self had unwittingly agreed to throw herself into just such a situation. The precariousness of her current situation only dawned on her when they were minutes outside of Brightfields. The guards had split off in the distance into multiple squads to cover strategic approaches into the town, whilst the adventurers hung back decently far enough that should someone rush her, she would be dead before they could react. In essence, she was on her own for the reconnaissance part of the plan. Though she had a sword loaned from the guild attached to her hip, she felt little comfort in the cold steel. For though the quality of the weapon mattered, without the skills to back it up, she was almost certain that it would be little more than a show piece.
Her feelings of fear further intensified when she reached the village outskirts and felt a heavy gaze descend upon her shoulders. Coupled with the already present anxieties, she felt her hairs stand on end and looked around nervously, scanning the village buildings only to find no signs of who was watching her. To her dismay, she saw nothing out of the ordinary, yet, when she finally arrived into the village, the feeling had only gotten stronger, and though her gut screamed for her to back out now, it was too late. She had already passed through the village gate and was quickly approaching the town square. Before she even had a chance to process the scenery around her, she felt something sharp pierce into her left shoulder, sending her flying off her mount and onto the cobblestone road below. She hurriedly rotated herself so that her other arm made contact first. With a hefty thud, she slammed into the ground, the searing pain had begun encompassing her whole arm.
She didn’t know if she screamed in pain or not from the sudden impact. But by the time she finally unclenched her eyes, all hells had broken loose. Two of the village’s guardsmen lay dead ahead of her; her mount had panicked and rampaged through the square causing the villagers and other visitors to run away in fear. Animalistic roars echoed from the rooftops and dark shadows descended just as adventurers and legionaries alike commenced their assault. She struggled to get back up but to no avail, her sense of balance having been completely thrown off by the arrow that now jutted out of her. When she finally pushed herself slightly off the ground, she only had moments to notice the large darkened figure barreling towards her. Unable to flee, she couldn’t even brace herself when she felt something collide against the back of her head, and could barely scream when the monstrosity picked her up and carried her away. It was a set up, they knew about everything! Spirits guide me!