....PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S Pre chapter Note....
The summer wind blew, causing the tall grasses and wildflowers of the field to sway back and forth gently as if a mother were caressing the cheek of her baby. In the sky, birds sailed lazily on the higher air currents without care, releasing high pitch shrills randomly. The weather was beautifully mild, with no malice of summer’s heat in sight. This day was perfectly made to lay about and forget about one’s worries. Just right for a visit to one’s favorite swimming or fishing hole or to receive a proper scolding from one’s mother or father for skipping out on your chores. One could be lulled to sleep in the shade of a tree comfortably while looking at the clouds in the sky, trying to figure out what animal they most resembled. This day was perfect; it was as if the Gods orchestrated it for men just to test their resistance to lazy tendencies.
The land was a brilliant ocean of yellows, oranges, purples, and blues. A stronger gust of wind moved across the field suddenly, stirring the sea of flowers, and the insects surfed on the waves of pollen dust and seeds surfing the air currents, looking like the waves on a beach. The plains were vast, stretching out as far as your eyes could see. It was why these lands earned the name of the Kimmer Sea Plains. The way the wind caused the flowers and grass to sway with an almost hypnotic type of rhythm, visually tricking the eyes into thinking one was looking out upon an ocean. Clutches of trees dotted the landscape, reminding one of the breaks in a wave before it came crashing down. Now and then, a hill would rise somewhere in the distance, or a valley would carve its way through the land, sticking out as a blemish.
A faint rumbled was felt in the land; it was a rhythmic rumble mingled with the sounds of metal scraping against armor, feet marching, and hundreds of men talking, all mixed together in a chaotic clamor. The noise came from a mass of men formed into ten squared formations. Each squared formation was composed of a thousand fully armed soldiers with an assortment of weapons, ranging from swords, spears, pikes, axes, and bows. Each soldier was wearing their respective tunics embroidered or patched on insignias of the lord they served. A sea of flags carried by young boys waved in the wind. The banner men represented each of the houses gathered in the army. There were the Sea Falcons from house Cenarus, the Oak Dragons of Tyrus, the Storm Hawks of Anathma, the Crow Daggers of Mulan, and many other lesser houses. One banner stood prominent amongst the throng of flags, mixed into each formation and larger than the rest. It was the Crystal Dragon banner of House Loudas, a dragon clutching a rose, and it was the banner of High King Danyais Hathat Loudas.
“The day is perfect, is it not my friends?” Danyais asked the nobles riding near him from atop his horse. Several of them nodded in acquisition to his statement. Danyais dismounted, and each of them dismounted, following their king’s lead. He stood still and sucked in a deep breath. “Enjoy this,” standing erect with his eyes close, feeling the wind pass over his face.
The nobles did as their king suggested, taking the day in and looking around. Some joked and others talked about smoking a pipe, while some talked about on days like this how they would have invaded the kitchens to lay siege and torment the cooking ladies while stealing baked pies or sweetbreads before being forced into a sticky retreat by head cooks or wives, and others talked of fishing.
Hearing the laughter and conversations from his lords and lesser nobles shamed Danyais. These stories and tasks they all wish they were doing right now were just a reminder of his colossal failure as a king. Danyais was fully aware he was responsible for leading his friends and, more importantly, his kingdom to this point. If only I were a stronger king three years ago, Danyais criticized himself. The King apologized to them all in his mind and begged forgiveness from those no longer with him, especially the ones who would have this last perfect day as their final good one. There was a battle to be fought, and for all he knew, this perfect day could be the last one he would experience.
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Four years ago, it was a year of misfortune and sorrow. A massive storm approached from the ocean and laid waste to a quarter of his kingdom. The dead and missing were too large to count. The storm ruined entire cities, leaving no trace of some villages except the wells dug. Many of Loudas’ southern inhabits abandoned the south, moving inland, making small villages into towns, towns into cities, and swelling cities beyond capacity. The overpopulated cities and towns had to deal with an increase in crime and sickness.
As if the storm was just a prelude to catastrophe, shortly after the recovery efforts started, the vrollocs crossed the mountains in a massive dread raid and ravaged the northern regions. Their monstrous’ existence until then was just tales used for stories to scare kids. King Danyais abandoned the recovery efforts in the southern portions of his kingdom and marched his army to war in the north to end the vrolloc incursion.
During the campaign, Danyais’ wife, Queen Sarinah, fell ill with child and died birthing their son, Ryghton. Both mother and child would have perished together if Cina, her childhood friend, and handmaid, had not cut the Queen’s womb opened when none of the court physicians wanted to mutilate her body to retrieve Ryghton. Eventually, the vrolloc dread horde was vanquished at a considerable cost. Loudas lost about sixty percent of its fighting strength, and if it were not for Clyden, then the war would have been lost. Clyden used his magic to call fires from the sky to decimate the dread horde in a decisive battle.
After the dangers from the vrollocs ended, Danyais disbanded his army and returned to his castle, Rose Claw, surrounded by Dragon Crest, the capital city of Loudas. In his grief, King Danyais ignored the state of his kingdom, and the recovery efforts were slowed in the south. In some of the areas of southern Loudas, the land became wild again, overran by feral pigs, and giant dire wolves the size of horses. The neighboring Kingdom of Sukkan, Loudas’ former ally, took notice of the neglect and invaded the southern region, claiming the land as their own.
It angered Danyais to think about how Sukkan invaded his kingdom. It was the catalyst he needed to pull him from his perpetual grief and motivate him to be a king worthy of the legacy his wife believed in. For the past two years, Loudas has warred with Sukkan bitterly, forcing them from the southern regions.
Danyais patted his horse’s cheek, handing the reins of his horse to one of the guards near him, and walked to one of the open bed wagons meant for ferrying the wounded or dead. Danyais raised his hand to the driver, and he pulled on the leather reins, easing the horses to a stop. Bowing his head to the king and touching his fist to his heart, Danyais approached the rear of the wagon, looking at the fresh wood of the wagon’s bed. It isn’t stained yet with blood. Danyais climbed into the back wagon’s bed so he could be seen.
He looked out into the crowd of men searching for his Lord General, and when he locked eyes with him, Danyais nodded to Clyden. The Magus Clyden wore the Crystal Dragon tabard of House Loudas, his head shaved except for a black braided side knot held together with a silver hair ring. On Clyden’s shoulders were smelted heads of a dragon skull with the bottom jaw missing, marking him as Danyais’ Lord General.
Clyden walked toward King Danyais, and the men in his way parted for Clyden as if a mountain were walking through a river. They divided out of fear and respect, touching their fists to their hearts in a salute. Or maybe it was the fact Clyden was carrying Witch Devil, the ominous black war glaive in his right hand driving them away in respectful intimidation. Witch Devil’s blade was a metallic black, and upon closer inspection, runes of silver and gold were engraved from the tip of the blade and even wrapping around the staff portion. The wicked glaive was more than just a weapon. It was the magus’ focal thaumaturgy, aiding Clyden in using his magic. Where the blade met staff, leather tassels with bones tied at the end dangled freely. Clyden held the glaive upright, so the blade pointed to the sky. He wanted to avoid stabbing someone on accident in the thick crowd gathering before the king.
Coming to a stop at the wagon Danyais was standing in, Clyden cast a spell. Witch Devil’s blade glowed a reddish-orange color. All the banners and flags throughout the army became rigid, surrounded by an orange glow, and no longer moved freely in the wind. Three years ago, magic was just a parlor trick. No one believed in it, and this sight before them would have been frightening. Not today, though. Because this was a common occurrence when Danyais wanted to talk to his troops or orders needed to be issued throughout the army, all the flags would become rigid. Many of these men here had witnessed Clyden’s magic during the Dread Horde campaign. The tales of Clyden, the magus who worked wonders with magic, the magus who slew countless vrollocs with the “fires from the sky” spread throughout Loudas. The stories were even carried by merchants to other lands, fostering his fame even more.