Tenth of Gort, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: Hero Potami arrived today carrying two letters to me. The first, a missive from William noting that several of his scouts in the direction of New Amsterdam hadn't checked in at their last appointed time, and that he intends to personally reconnoiter in an attempt to find his scouts, as some of them are in his personal employ rather than that of the office of the Marshall, and they might not break their covers for anyone else. The man is still as foolhardy as he was when we attended the Academy. Wotan save me from fools given power. Proving that no Earthly power could possibly do so, the second letter proved to be orders from the Marshall of Phileo City and Camden Yards, dictating that the Lord of Lancaster House and current head of House Lancaster call up the Lancaster Volunteers. Leave it to him to send both at the same time with the same courier.

Still, it has been over a year since I called the Lancaster Volunteers to Lancaster House; even if this proves to be nothing but William's fevered imagination at work, it will be a good training exercise, what with autumn filling the roads with muddy patches and leaves. I've sent runners out, informing the farmsteads and villages that their Volunteers are to report to Lancaster House no later than the Seventeenth of Gort. All Veterans capable of fighting are to report, filling their units' numbers with fresh Volunteers as needed. I shall choose their Sergeants once all the Volunteers are gathered; no point in doing so before I know whether any given Veteran remains capable of marching.

Thirteenth of Gort, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: The first Volunteers have arrived. So far no Veterans have failed to show; in point of fact at least two units have split and recruited new Volunteers to fill out their numbers. While I'm sure they did so in order to create a second spot with a Sergeant's pay, I still find that a promising sign, especially if we are forced to war as William is so worried about.

Twenty First of Gort, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: Oscar tells me a few of the staff have come down ill. Almost inevitable this time of year. Fools traipsing about without a care for the smell of snow in the air.

Twenty Fourth of Gort, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: Lachlan arrived with tidings of war. New Amsterdam has once again decided to test our borders, and the Marshall has seen fit to call up the Volunteers and call in the Heroes, myself included. I worry for Lancaster House in my absence. Not truly for its defense, as Lachlan has at the very least become adequately proficient with the arts martial, both as an exceptional combatant and as a uninspired yet effective commander. I have advised him to be conservative in all his other judgements, maintaining the status quo until my return. I take three in four of our Volunteers with me, leaving the remainder evenly spread between Lancaster House and its neighboring farmsteads; that should be enough to discourage any adventurism from Calverton.

Third of Negetal, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: I remain in shock, not only because Anathema has twisted our laws regarding religious freedom in order to establish a foothold in Phileo, not only because it has apparently won the acceptance of every Council Member even marginally aware of its continued existence, not even because Wotan has personally informed me that I am to treat her as I would any other Cadet or High Priestess, but because despite her obvious leanings toward nihilism, she has managed to succeed so blatantly in her endeavors. I would never have thought it capable of inspiring the peasants of Camden Yards, of all places, to Volunteer in numbers greater than even Lancaster. I suppose the population of Camden Yards is, in fact, greater than that of Lancaster, thus allowing them a greater number of spare bodies, but the thought of so many standing up to defend Phileo is foreign. Alien and troubling. Although I suppose I shall need to become accustomed to things both alien and troubling if I am to make full and best use of these new resources as my Lord Wotan has bid me.

Fifth of Negetal, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: The Gods have seen fit to make two of them. Not only need I contend, as I have always done, with the chaotic predilections of my nominal superior William duBois, but now he has found an apprentice, a protégé, an heir apparent to all the chaotic disorder he revels in, and she is, without a doubt, in every way more chaotic and unmanageable than he is. Or perhaps not? Perhaps my nemesis has, as he has aged, gained enough wisdom to understand the value of order, of Laws, of consistency in maintenance of the status quo, and only in comparison to his relative maturity does she seem more chaotic?

While that thought gives me some small comfort, the greater and more important part of me knows it to be a pleasant lie. Cadet Tabitha Diaz, High Priestess and Champion of Loki, is not more chaotic than her mentor due to her youth. She is a force of disorder not seen in the Mortal Realm since Loki's imprisonment. And yet, my lord Wotan has bid me use her and her anthemic paramour as weapons of war. Speaking of, the Gods have indeed made two of them, and I suspect that in this case the God in question is Loki himself, who is undoubtedly in cahoots with the Walking Ragnarok. Not only will I have the High Priestess of Anathema in my Grand Army, I will have a true Mor as well, one with destructive potential unrivaled by any since Balor himself. If I cannot win a war with such forces at my disposal, I do not deserve the title of Lord Lancaster, let alone that of General of the Grand Army.

Tenth of Negetal, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: While I had previously harbored some small hope that Cadet Diaz was less intelligent than William by a margin equal to her greater chaotic nature, today disabused me of that. Not only has she seen fit to grant my son Laurence the credit for her 'pontoon bridge' idea, she saw through my play to claim the Marshall's mantle for my own before we are officially at war. Still, I would be a poor General indeed were I to complain that the tools at my disposal were 'too smart' for me to use. This does make me simultaneously question and be glad of our stance regarding women in Lancaster.

Twelfth of Negetal, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: The next generation of chaos has already been spawned. I suppose if I have anything to be thankful for it's that Cadet Aetos' influence seems to have curbed her partner's unbridled entropic leanings and instilled a respect for the rules in their daughter. Of course, I did not expect someone to both know and manipulate those rules better than I, even if I hadn't been aware of the competition until now. Cadet Aetos appears to have potential. Her gender is unfortunate, but perhaps with sufficient compensation she might be recruited to bear Lachlan's child? While I am hesitant to sully our bloodline with a known Bag, the fact that the idiot and the runt are my two best options as Heir is significant enough evidence that our bloodline requires an infusion of new blood.

Thirteenth of Negetal, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: Glory be to Wotan. Not only has my acceptance of Anathema's Handmaiden uncovered utility in my runt of a second son, but taking the time to explain logic to Cadet Diaz seemingly was not wasted. His Foresight is the greatest power I can imagine.

Fifteenth of Negetal, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: Cadet Diaz' poor breeding and upbringing shows through with each and every conversation we have, and yet somehow she has learned to understand and appreciate subtler plans than a brick to the face. I choose to believe this is entirely the Handmaiden of Anathema's influence, as despite her heretical faith, she is clearly quite intelligent. Perhaps I have underestimated her?

Eighteenth of Negetal, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: I have definitely underestimated Cadet Aetos. Or should I say High Priestess of Anathema and Councilwoman of Loki Aetos. Perhaps, much as William has found a protégé who will eventually overwhelm him in Cadet Diaz, I have found one in Cadet Aetos? Such a thought is disturbing, but I would be unworthy of the Lancaster name if I chose to bind myself to a pleasant lie rather than the harshest of truths.

Twenty Fifth of Negetal, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: News from my informants on the Council; Cadet Diaz is indeed Marshall duBois protégé; he's even taught her that Translocation trick of his, although she seems to use it much more freely. Perhaps I was mistaken to leave her behind?

Twenty Seventh of Negetal, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: The Marshall and the forces Hero Castro took to relieve him have joined us. William is as insufferable as ever, and though command of the Grand Army is still mine, as my nominal commander he has directed me to advance. My intent is to force the New Amsterdam Army out of their prepared positions by having Cadet Aetos fire on them with Vulcan, then advancing to take those positions, then repeating the bombardment. While our progress may be slower than he'd like, we will, in fact, be advancing, which is what he has legally ordered me to do. My only solace in this is that while I was outplayed in Council, it was clearly done by Councilwoman Aetos, and not Councilwoman Diaz.

Twenty Eighth of Negetal, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: I begin to understand Odin's intent, I think, and with that understanding have devised a plan. According to William, Cadet Diaz is already significantly more dangerous than he in combat. While I find him hopeless as a field commander, and onerous beyond belief as a person, I would be lying were I to say he is anything less than a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Cadet Diaz has displayed the ability to Translocate strategic distances, as well as some ability to communicate with her wife. As such, I will keep her wife close, and place myself into positions to bait the enemy into committing to an attack in order to destroy our command structure.

Not only will any danger to her wife cause Cadet Diaz to Translocate to the battle and give her the element of complete surprise, but I believe that Cadet Aetos, despite her heresy, is indeed the protégé to match William's Diaz. The fact that she and Diaz are linked is fortuitous, as it means the next generation of Heroes will have a Leader and a General who not only work together, but do so preferentially. Which I would have done with William had he not been so perniciously headstrong. Finally, should the worst occur and some mischief befall me, William is still with the Grand Army. While I am the superior field commander, William is certainly capable of leading. The risks are manageable and acceptable, and the potential gain is worth the risks.

Third of Ruish, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: New Amsterdam's Army has fallen back, unable to withstand Vulcan's attack, and unable to breach our line through concentrated Crossbow fire. William has encouraged me to pursue, but we have advanced well into New Amsterdam controlled territory. As such, they will likely be able to set deadfalls and other such traps in our path should we do so. My intent is to advance in a different direction every day, forcing them to spread any such traps across a wider area. There is no present urgent need to push the enemy, and any casualties we take will only reduce our morale.

Sixth of Ruish, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: I find myself in the unusual position of having to acknowledge my own foolishness as regards to military doctrine. Last night our camp was attacked, and not only were our enemies successful at infiltrating our camp before our troops fully awoke to resist them, but four of New Amsterdam's Heroes made it to my tent backed up by two squads of Levies. The first through the door died to my blade, but after that I was hard pressed to do more than keep myself alive. Within minutes, all three remaining Heroes bled, but I did as well. I might take one down with me, possibly two, but without relief I knew myself done for.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Right about then Cadet Aetos made her presence known. Well, her presence as well as that of her unit. One of the Heroes surrounding me died in that instant, and another turned to face her. Much to my dismay he recognized her, or at least the weapon she carried, and leapt to attack her. The final Hero put himself between me and his partner, but one lone New Amsterdam Hero is not a match for the Lord of Lancaster House. As I cut him down, I saw a naked woman leap behind the Hero trying to kill Cadet Aetos. Before the woman, I assume Cadet Diaz, could stop the Hero leaping at her wife, Cadet Aetos did so herself, running him through with a blade of pure Mana, not unlike Cadet Diaz had shown me the day after All Hallows.

With the remaining New Amsterdam witnesses dispatched, I ordered Cadets Diaz and Aetos into my tent to set up a triage center, and to deliver cases requiring it to the Academy Infirmary. During the subsequent conversation Cadet Diaz made entirely disrespectful comments which she thought I didn't hear, but which had the annoying feature of being correct; the enemy need not know nor understand our command structure if we advertise the location of our leaders when they sleep. Of course, William had to spoil any satisfaction I might have had in telling him he wouldn't be staying in the relative luxury of my command tent going forward by inviting me to share the basic soldier's field tent he'd been staying in before he rejoined our main force.

And his supporters seem to think I'm the annoying one.

Fifteenth of Ruish, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: I suppose this is what people of lesser talents and means call 'mixed emotions'. Though that's not entirely fair, since my personal experience with the state being related to finding a viable protégé, I must conclude that my previous inexperience is due not to my intelligence or wealth, but due to my dearth of viable options for Heir.

I approached William at breakfast and informed him I would be arranging a parley. If we can end this without bloodshed, perhaps even arrange some reparations? This will all have been a fantastic field exercise for the Grand Army, without the typical need to rearrange our fields and crafts to account for the dead and maimed. I expected him to argue with me, to be in favor of 'bloodying Octavio's nose'. Instead? He simply said, "Good idea, Leonard. I'll go set it up."

"You."

"Yep."

"The Marshall of Phileo, who currently holds three Council seats."

"Means they know I've got some weight behind my words."

I took a deep breath. "And they know that if they capture you, I would be hard pressed to deny them whatever ransom they asked."

He shrugged. "They ain't got what it takes to hold me, but just in case, as Marshall I'm giving you a direct order not to ransom me; if they capture me, you're to prosecute the war until they regret doing so."

"The morale cost..."

He interrupted me with that infuriating chuckle of his. "You haven't gotten to know our new Camden Yards boys, have you?"

"In what way do they differ from the Phileo Volunteers that matters? Are they even less capable when compared to Lancaster Volunteers?"

"Arrogant asshole. Those Camden Yards boys and girls aren't Dan. Or Humans who bend knee to Dan. They're Bag, through and through, even the ones without a drop of Bag blood in 'em."

I hid my shudder and impotent fury at his insult and said, "so they are less capable."

He had the temerity to roll his eyes at me and say, "don't rightly matter, because like I said, Camden Yards Bag. They see one of theirs go down, they don't run, they don't talk, they don't think, they jump the fuck in. All at once, heels to knees, elbows to kidneys, fists to skulls, in to the fuckin' hilt. If Oliver shits another head out his ass that's smart enough to catch me? You just have Aetos tell all of them that New Amsterdam betrayed us and took me, and morale will be the least of your worries. Calling them off might be impossible, but breaking? They'll be too fuckin' pissed off to even think about breaking, and every one of them that falls will piss them off more."

"So you're telling me that should you be taken, one in three of my Volunteers will abandon honor and sense and fight like men possessed until they win or fall?"

"About the size of it."

"Well then, if you hand me six thousand raging Picts and I can't win a single breaching battle, I'll tell Odin you were always the better of us."

That's when my protégé spoke up. "Sir?"

"Yes, Cadet?"

"It's important to note that while any Hero might pass a message of Parley, only the two of you hold more than one Council seat; you're the only two who could hold our side to an arranged parley." I nodded. William and I both knew that, of course, but sometimes those newly initiated to the Art needed to hear themselves say things aloud. At least she had the good grace to be correct. Then she said, "given that it must be one of the two of you, the Marshall is the obvious choice, Sir." Before I could interrupt, she continued, saying, "after all, his facility with Translocation means that no matter your relative ability in single, melee, ranged, or magical combat, he is obviously superior at being able to extricate himself from a situation."

I glared at her, tensing to strike her for her impertinence, to reject her presumption and cast her out, but as her gaze remained locked with my own, I realized something which twisted my emotions into unaccustomed knots. She'd spoken over me knowing that one possible response I could have would be to do so, but she'd kept me from speaking for perhaps the only reason which justified such impertinence. She'd spoken to keep me from making an ass of myself by ignoring a pertinent detail which ought be known to me. She'd not been brash and headstrong, but as cold, calculated, and precise as I could wish to be; if I cast her out? She would not be an unworthy protégé. I would have proven myself unworthy to mentor her.

I stood in the presence of a protégé who even now might have surpassed me, only waiting her moment to show herself to the world. And she had willingly placed herself between me and danger, as is a protégé's duty, before I even became aware the danger existed.

"So be it. See if you can get them to provide the meeting place, William; our own force has little in the way of diplomatic niceties." The most logical reasons to dangle William on a hook, an army of Picts ready to rage, five thousand crossbows ready to slaughter Levies en masse like they'd never known, a literal Mor standing by to breach Newark's walls on my command, and finally, after over a decade of waiting unto despair, a worthy protégé. The only possible smirch on my outlook was that this battle might not be my crowning achievement, but the dawn of my protégé's dominance.

Mixed emotions indeed.

Sixteenth of Ruish, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: The parlay today had... interesting results. I have never puzzled at the Chinese Curse, but I believe I now understand it in a far more visceral way. Octavio's son disappoints me. As physically imposing as Lachlan, yet without my son's idiocy. I cannot tell if Octavio was foolish, clever, or just unaware how others might envy his options for Heir, but Oliver's devotion to Ares has turned a promising young man into a belligerent hothead. Even William was wise enough to avoid belligerence for belligerence's sake.

Disappointing heirs aside, Oliver goaded me with knowledge regarding some form of 'darkness' holding sway in the Realm of the Gods. I asked my Lord Odin, but his only response was, It is not my place to say aught of that, but I remind you that Ragnarok Walks, and the Black Swan's young multiply daily.

Of course then Oliver tried to dictate to us what we ought do in our own City. Instead of teaching the whelp his place, William fell back on our laws. Odd that he would do so, since he will skirt the letter of them while ignoring the spirit when it suits him. Of course, he would not have been a fitting nemesis for myself were he mentally deficient, and he remembered the hand talk we developed as a Project during our Cadet days. He silently asked me how long I would need to prepare to breach Newark's walls. Frankly, I suspected Vulcan could breach them any time I asked my protégé to do so, but breaching the walls without the ability to put men through those breaches? Pointless. I replied equally silently that I required four days. In four days, we should be able to have enough 'pontoons' to get our troops across the river without relying on the drawbridge. At that point, it will come down to whether they see sense and surrender when we breach their walls, or risk riot and rampage and try to deny the breach.

While I would never allow troops under my command to run completely rampant, such impertinence would at least justify some judiciously implemented arson and looting. Rape is of course completely out of the question; why would we gift our enemy with the seed of our conquering soldiers? Should some of the women of Newark choose to follow our troops home, on the other hand, and our Volunteers trust them enough to sleep unarmored in their presence? I see no strong reason to prevent that particular form of looting.

Twentieth of Ruish, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: Lord of Valhal, King of Asgard, hear the plea of your High Priest to Lancaster and Phileo City and vouchsafe unto me the knowledge that I have not blasphemed, have not lost your favor, have not failed to meet my obligations to you.

You have not.

Those three words, my Lord's only response to me, are enough to settle my mind, if not my nerves. When I faced her in the Practice Yard, Phileo's finest military mind and Odin's High Priest faced a child mad with power. Today? I stood between my protégé and my rival, throwing his vaunted laws back in his own face, as a Cadet... no, I will not underestimate her again.

No matter how terror unmans me when I state things plainly. I stood between my rival and Phileo's greatest military mind, a High Priestess granted the right to manifest her Goddess' presence on Earth, a presence which has protected my Phileo from the unending rage of Apollo. Not from a single strike, but from a campaign lasting over three months already, all without a single hint of his wrath leaking through. I stood with her at my back and threw my long time rival's favorite 'freedom' in his face, forcing him to see the Anathema it has spawned. I explained her situation to him, and as I did for once I listened to myself speak.

Weep, mothers of New Amsterdam. Weep, People of Danae. Weep, Olympus. Weep, Asgard. Ragnarok walks the world, and her Chosen Vessel seeks nothing less than the pain and death of all of your children. Weep, and curse the hubris of Diana, who stole her child, for with that her quest for vengeance is just.

The Walking Ragnarok is come, and her wrath is righteous. May she have mercy on those who do not seek to bar her passage.

Twenty First of Ruish, Year Three Hundred Forty One After Founding: I sat beside her, confident that my protégé found me useful, that my enemies knew not what they faced, that in the end Ares' petty tantrum would only serve to further the glory of Odin, the glory of Phileo, the glory of Lancaster.

Then a flash of red, an eternal world of pain shoved through me in an instant, and my soul knelt, naked in the darkness, buried in Anathema. Anathema that thundered and burned me incidentally with the flames of implacable, endless, mindless rage. My rival my only companion, we clung to each other and wept in terror that she might snuff out our Souls at any instant.

Then her Chosen One called out to us, her whisper a command, and I rushed through darkness to the body of a dullahan wearing my armor, my uniform, my Priestly garb. Darkness overwhelmed me, and I breathed once more. William breathed next to me, shuddering tears in his breath, twin to mine own.

The Chosen One of Anathema, the Mother's Wrath Unbound, spoke. "Potami. Watch over them," she ordered The Unbending Blade of Phileo.

Who bent. Her voice shattering in the silent darkness, dropping as she took a knee. "yes. your will."

I know not how long William and I knelt, clinging to one another, one sheltering hand of The Unbending Blade atop each of our heads. Smell slipped in through the thundering flames of rage. Blood. Earth. Blood. Shit. Blood. Pork. Blood. Piss. Blood. Lightning. Blood, blood, and more blood. Blood enough to drown Jormungandr. Pain echoed through the darkness, sensation without cause or reason.

Then her Chosen One spoke a single word that stilled the world. "STOP." Everything froze in place, and the Wrathful Mother spoke once more, her voice a whispering balm, the faintest hope of salvation. "Your walls are breached. You have lost. Surrender, lie face down on the ground, and no further harm will befall you." The tiniest of pauses, then, "any who continue to fight will be executed like the rest of your army was."

Anathema convulsed once. Then settled into wondrous silence.

High Priestess Aetos stood beside us, pulled William and I to our feet, took both our old, calloused hands in one of her petite ones. Potami gasped, and we stood on the churned, blood soaked mud of Newark's killing field. Bodies in blue and orange lay as far as the eye could see.

I dropped to my knees in prayer.

Lord, have I displeased you in any way?

You have not.

Lord, am I still your High Priest to Lancaster and Phileo City?

And to as far as her shadow shall stretch. You are the single point of light in that great darkness, Leonard Lancaster. You have not failed me yet. Should you keep faith with me, remain that unfailing point of light in the darkness, you shall rest in the Valhal, no matter the manner of your demise. So say I, Alfodr, Lord of the Aesir, Lord of Asgard, Lord of Valhal.

My soul should have thrilled to hear that my Lord found my actions, my presence, of such value that I no longer need fear death, even death of old age in my own bed.

It would have.

Had Odin's once mighty voice not rung with the same shattered steel as I'd heard from the once Unbending Blade of Phileo.