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Roran, of Saeveril
Second Othrim
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-
> Council of the Twenty
>
> The Elderblood lines
>
> (Detailed)
>
> -
>
>
>
> Kallister ‘The Traveler’, disappeared, unknown date, no known offspring.
>
> King Ninthalor (assassinated in his sleep, marking the end of First Era), later Queen Baltoris (Killed during Reinut’s conquest marking the end of Second Era), Princess Lithoniela
>
> High Priestess Sintoriela, First Sibyl of the Coven (unknown fate, oldest Zilan pre-empire), High Priestess Edlenn ‘The Night Moon’ ‘Fair Mother’ (assassinated? in Elauthin, Second Era), Rinariel ‘The Kind’ (killed by Gimoss ‘The Dead’ in the Plague Isles, First Era), Aelrindel ‘Moon’s Daughter’ also ‘Hallowed Splendor’ from her name’s old Imperial Ael meaning holy/Divine, also ‘The Vile’
>
> Olonelis ‘The Astute’, Darunia, ‘Divine Physician’
>
> Onas ‘Old Eye’, no known offspring.
>
> Anfalon ‘The Great’
>
> Paeris ‘The Fair’
>
> Elwuin ‘Scholastic’, Falael (Died in the Fall)
>
> Quiceran, ‘The Builder’ (Died in the Fall)
>
> Elas ‘The Wise’ (Died in the Fall, near Nureria), Aenymriel ‘Nym’
>
> Nuala ‘The Archer’ (Killed defending Cydonia by the Aken, First Era), Lyrael, (Died in the Fall)
>
> Galadriel, Second Sibyl of the Coven, the 'Ice Lady' (Died in the Fall?, unknown fate)
>
> Calamer (Assassinated? on Nureria, Second Era)
>
> Isildor (Lost –presumed poisoned by the Aken- in the Plague Isles, First Era)
>
> Edor (Assassinated? on Cydonia, First Era)
>
> Myrdiel (Killed by Gimoss ‘The Dead’ in the Plague Isles, First Era)
>
> Eroshin, ‘The Green Wizard’ (Killed By Gimoss ‘The Dead’ in the Plague Isles, First Era)
>
> Shaelor (Killed by the Aken riding Gilvaris ‘The Old’ near Coal Isle, First Era) Suraer ‘The Mithren’, Aelinole
>
> Nororis, ‘The Blue Sorceress’ (Killed by Gimoss ‘The Dead’ in the Plague Isles, First Era), Ena ‘The Mad’, Third Sibyl of the Coven (Severely injured in the Plague Isles campaign, preserved in a magically induced coma somewhere in Nesande’s Garden)
[https://i.imgur.com/FP8ZAih.jpg]
There was a light-blue water lily stitched on the front of the dark-green sash, the leather armour lined with coiled black wire. The design ancient, but easily recognizable. The scarred female Imperial Ranger, her skin wrapped where the cheekbone had been shattered, glanced at her longtime partner Ievis, of Qildor and smiled.
Woe to those, Axilyel, of Halanoris smiles to, went the saying in the Phalanx, for the mounted rangers of the ‘Rokae’ are right cunts.
Roran grimaced in response and walked outside the lake. The waters shallow at that point, but then again Glae-Lin Tul’s waters were always clear as the name suggested, but also very shallow, which it didn’t. The elders were weird in their naming schemes, or the Fall had shaken everything so much nothing was clear anymore.
But some things don’t really change, Roran thought and picked up his dark short tunic to cover himself.
“I love a male in a dress,” Axilyel taunted, watching him getting his armour on. “But I prefer you naked Roran, you’ve grown muscles everywhere.”
Ievis chuckled at that.
“No you don’t,” Roran retorted and closed the clasps of his metal muscled cuirass. “If you feared of me drowning in your pond, rest assured my feet touch the bottom firmly.”
“Tall and handsome Roran, of Saeveril,” Axilyel said, sounding jealous. “We are to escort you back to Abarat. Make sure nothing happens to the leader of the Second. You’re precious to Rothomir.”
“I know the road,” Roran argued. “Only fools get lost in the plains.”
“It’s a jungle out there now,” Ievis added, with a stupid grin.
“Delmuth sent you?” The Third Rokae of Lo-Minas had been the lesser of the Queen’s knights, since those residing in Goras and Elauthin outranked them, but their leader had risen in the list of Imperial officers via the time-practiced and assured method of outliving his superiors through sheer luck.
And a boring posting.
“Delmuth is out in the field to replenish Lord Mithren’s horses,” Axilyel replied and used her long bow to lift his shield for him. Roran secured it on his back and stooped to gather his spear. ‘Mithren’ was a moniker for the Lord of Lo-Minas, the ‘grey metal’ lord of the ‘shallow-lakes’ town, given to him due to the color of his hair and his bloodline’s dealings in Mithril metal back in Cydonia Cazan, though the mines producing it were now at the bottom of the Scalding Sea.
“How is Lord Suraer today?”
“Worried about you, just like yesterday.”
There was a double meaning in her words.
“I said my piece. He’s free to do whatever he wants.”
“How is threatening a member of the Council freedom?” Axilyel argued and stepped aside for Roran to walk past her. Roran paused in front of Ievis with a frown.
“You’ve taken on weight girl,” he admonished her. The Ranger blushed furiously and glanced at her partner hurt. Axilyel eyed Roran warningly, but he shrugged his shoulders to show her truth can hurt sometimes. “Rothomir has command of a fortified town, Suraer rules over the Queen’s stables and holds the Old Granary grounds. Lo-Minas is important, but horses don’t fight and tend to throw their riders on spears.”
“They also circle around a slow line, hit them from the rear. You have your answer.”
Roran nodded. “Rothomir doesn’t need his vote. His orders are for Delmuth to bring his riders to Abarat.”
“Delmuth is busy training. Per his last written instructions he is to guard the stables. I’ve seen the gold-lined parchment, it’s difficult to read, but I’ve good eyes.”
“I thought he was out looking for more horses,” Roran countered, not reacting to her quip.
“Will you need the escort Roran?” Axilyel hissed. “I could always report I missed you. Aelinole will be saddened for sure.”
“She’s with the squad?” Roran asked, Suraer’s daughter an old friend.
“Lord Suraer won’t let her approach Abarat,” Axilyel deadpanned. “Word is that Rothomir is grabbing any female with influence and locks her in his tower.”
“That’s not true,” Roran grunted. He pushed his hair back and wore the tight helm on his head tipped back so he could see his surroundings better. “Are the girls to come along for the trip?” In reality it was a three weeks journey almost, if one kept a steady trot.
Unless you used horses. Roran always counted the distances on foot out of habit.
“We have some boys now also, if you’re interested,” the Imperial Ranger taunted and pointed at the path leading away from the lake and the North Gates of Lo-Minas. “I have arranged for horses. Of course you are free to follow us on foot, if you prefer.”
Roran didn’t.
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The tricorn-shaped castle of Abarat was built on the flat rise that carried its name. Every inch of the plateau had been covered, the ten meter thick walls’ batter angled sharply and leading to a vertical additional twenty meters of fortifications. The crenellations at the end of it also sharply cut triangles, but the internal structures of the curtain walls, once sparse and used to house the Abarat Guard tasked with defending Elas Bridge and the approach to Nesande’s Garden, had slowly covered its massive Bailey fully.
The roomy barracks were still present, as was the commander’s oval-shaped central keep, but every inch of space available had seen new buildings erected, mainly villas. Seeing as everyone wanted a view of the lake, the houses kept getting taller until they overcame the curtain walls and the citizens that had flocked to the safety of the castle town could now watch the sunset in the Great Acid Lake at the distance. The nearby forest had been pruned to allow fields to be created, but eventually the city had spilled outside the castle and towards the valley as the years had gone by, with some citizens building farms so close to the Lake appropriating virgin Imperial land, Lord Rothomir had to sign an order reminding everyone that it was forbidden and then building an actual wall to bar citizens from its shores, when the order was largely ignored.
That was more than a hundred years ago.
The wall of course was far from completed and the whole project eventually scrapped as the local stone quarries had been exhausted and Elwuin who’d come up with the idea admitted it was fruitless in an emotional and tearful address to the citizens everyone present mostly ignored. The randomly assembled citizens/refugees from the whole empire were extremely difficult to rule over without royal decree, or executions. Rothomir and the Council wanted more people coming to Abarat, as absent slaves they needed the hands, so they opted to turn a blind eye to that too.
As for the three meter tall unfinished stone wall, all sixteen kilometers of it, it still stood covered in vines as the Zilan used it to produce wine.
So something had come out of it.
Rothomir had managed to get an agreement with the ‘nearby’ –also spared due to its location- Lo-Minas district and the road had been repaired again utilizing the two provincial ‘cities’ resources. Lord ‘Mithren’ Suraer had the stronger bloodline and a chair in the Council of Twenty –the number heavily depleted at the present- but the lesser final royal assignment. Since Rothomir had control of the soldiers and the Castle, plus the prestigious title of the ‘Guardian of the Garden’, but mostly just because the remaining members of the Council opted for the better weather of Abarat, the power was placed ‘firmly’ in his hands to get the ball rolling again.
The power and the Second Othrim, the last unit of the Imperial Phalanx. The Queen had left it behind to guard the coast and Luthos spared them as the calamity caught them on the march. When Roran had realized there was no coast left as he knew it, no Cydonia, or any other of the large cities, he had turned the Second around and brought it to Abarat, where most of the Council survivors had flocked to.
Roran believed Rothomir was doing a good enough job given all that had transpired and the total collapse of the empire, but then as things go Rothomir had decided that since he’d the responsibility and carried the load, he should also enjoy the benefits. Lord Suraer who’d let the matter slide on who should take charge –he’d been outvoted, so he didn’t have much of a choice- drew a hard line on allowing Rothomir to take the throne. No throne was available, but it was the idea behind it that infuriated Lord Suraer more.
Again, Lord Suraer had found himself without the needed votes from the remaining Council. True to his bloodline’s historic stalwart steadfastness and his moniker’s sturdiness, Roran’s efforts to convince him to back Rothomir had drown in the shallow waters of Glen-Lin Tull’s lakes. Suraer’s latest proposal was to have the empty seats filled with some of the older surviving bloodlines, but that wasn’t the law and either way no such elderbloods were at the near.
Unless Hardir has some in Goras strolling about, Roran thought and returned Bellas’, of Zyll salute at the entrance of Second Othrim’s main camp. But then again why would they back Suraer? Assuming this Hardir was the egalitarian type.
“Roran,” Bellas said, his clever eyes darting at the twenty Rangers he’d brought along and their fine horses. “We’re getting a horse detail in the Second?”
“No,” Axilyel replied gruffly, ten days on the road not improving her manners. “You are not.”
Bellas nodded, his eyes finding something of interest amongst the fancy rangers and smiling. Roran, who’d jumped from his own warhorse lithely, cutting his shameless flirting short.
“Where’s Ulovir?” he rustled.
“Across the pond…ehm, the canal,” Bellas replied snapping back to attention. Roran stared at the Othrim getting ready to march for the day’s exercises led by Malon, his third in command. Roran’s count coming up short a lot of helmets. “Onas has taken a detail to Snake Mount,” Bellas added confirming his suspicion.
“Onas doesn’t lead the Second Bellas!” Roran blasted him and Axilyel found it very funny. Roran whipped his helmed head her way. “Axilyel your riders can find rest in our barracks. Food and water shall be provided for the horses.”
Get the fuck out of my face was his meaning.
“Girls,” Axilyel said, the eight virile males in her unit snickering at the old moniker. “We’re being ushered to our rooms. Is there an escort available?”
“Bellas,” Roran grunted to the Hoplite. “Seeing as you’re loitering at the entrance, you get the job.”
The fourth in rank Hoplite saluted. “Do I get to ride on the horse sire?”
“Sure,” Roran yielded. “I’ll walk to Malon. I assume he knows more.”
“He does Roran,” Bellas readily replied.
Roran eyed the distant rows of armoured soldiers dressing up and getting ready to march. The camp had a diameter of five kilometers. Half of that to the central square.
Get your legs working again, he decided and started walking briskly at first.
All that riding about weakling crap, will turn you as soft as Ievis fat arse.
So he sprinted the rest of the way.
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Two hours later he found Lord Rothomir eating in the west side of his hall sort of speak, as the hall was ovular in shape and had its entrance facing the south.
“Ah, Roran,” Rothomir said from his dinner table, pausing to chew on the vegetables he’d shoved in his mouth. “Have a seat, there’s enough broccoli and spiced onions here to put tears in your eyes.”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“I don’t favor them boiled,” Roran declined through his teeth.
“You’re braver than me,” Lord Rothomir said with a thin smile sensing his mood. Roran, who had left his spear and shield with the guards to gain entrance faster, pulled a very high back marble chair from the table to sit more comfortably. “Unwieldy things,” Rothomir commented watching him. “I keep upgrading this place, but I just can’t get rid of them. Been with me for six centuries and a couple of postings alike an old rash you can’t shake,” he smacked his lips, then wiped them with a towel. “You took your time Roran,” Rothomir added finally, seeing the Hoplite’s solemn expression. “I take it Suraer wasn’t cooperative?”
Roran wasn’t that bothered with the Lord of Lo-Minas either.
“He’d his schedule for the next couple of years fixed he said,” Roran rustled. “It took him three months to finally grant me an audience, so I spent the time visiting the lakes, swimming and meeting with old friends. All in all it was rather enjoyable.”
“Mmm, was Aelinole around I wonder? How is our Lily of the Water really?”
“Still running with rangers, twice as skillful,” Roran replied keeping it modest.
“A waste of her talents.”
“Following her class and nature? I wouldn’t call it that,” Roran argued and eyed the long-necked bottle of wine covered with silver adornments. “Advised more like. Sensible even.”
Rothomir grimaced, then scratched his right cheek with a long finger. “Help yourself. My last slave died of old age a long time ago.”
Roran reached for the bottle and poured some of the local vintage in a tall narrow glass that had the same silver adornments as the bottle. A nice set, most likely a gift, he thought. The crystals imported from Jelin centuries ago.
“Did anything come of it?” Rothomir asked, allowing him first to taste last season’s wine. Everything was improving with every passing year. The sulfuric aftertaste from the soil still present amidst the various sucrose elements the wine-makers had added. Being so near the Great Lake with its brimstone bottom and the vapors bubbling to the surface, one quickly grew accustomed to the distinct air. Of course if you crossed the narrow land bridge to the other side, then the rich bouquet of the biggest natural assortment of flowers on Eplas made the lake’s less pleasant smell disappear completely.
As in any account, there was a little bit of truth and a little bit of untruth in this story too.
“The Imperial Stables never looked busier,” Roran replied, licking his lips. “Lord Suraer’s proposal was much like the last one though. He heard of Goras growing.”
“That’s not Goras. Goras is at the bottom of the gulf,” Rothomir retorted. “Who do we have there?”
“A couple of Pelleas’ people stayed behind,” Roran said. “Blended in. The place is booming. Humans, Gish and dwarfs roaming about. Slaves and imported goods. Trade caravans and working ports to the other Kingdoms. I don’t see them going back to Snake Mount anytime soon. Feeding the Hydra loses its appeal after a while. Most prefer to dance till they collapse in drunken stupor and the occasional good ole shagging. And I’m talking about the Zilan here.”
Rothomir grunted and stood back on his uncomfortable seat. The gold and red-leather waist length doublet he wore was buttoned down its front with many tricorn-shaped golden buttons. He did all he could to appear more than he really was, but living so near the Elderbloods was wearing him down.
“Damn stubborn blind old prick,” he finally spat, anger spilling out. “Ungrateful and short-sighted. No wonder he ended up shoveling dung in the middle of nowhere!”
“Lucky him,” Roran commented.
Lucky you and lucky me. Much better characters have gotten the shaft so we can talk of dung right now.
“I won’t spend more resources fixing that darn road to the coast,” Rothomir continued. “I’ve gone over and beyond my posting’s obligations here. I don’t even need his darn vote!”
“There are twenty votes in the Council,” Roran told him patiently, the politics not that interesting to him. He never got bored of his class himself, but if he had to pick something, delving into politics was at the bottom of his list. Wine making in contrast was much higher. “You got Olonelis, Paeris, Elwuin and Onas. That’s four votes. Suraer is against you. There’re a lot of people missing Rothomir.”
“More than anyone else. I have Darunia as well.”
Olonelis had put her in the Council, but formally her vote didn’t count as she was to take her mother’s place, when the old politician kicked the bucket.
Olonelis could probably outlive everyone was Roran’s guess.
“Sure,” he yielded to Rothomir’s count.
You do.
For now.
“Well, the Queen is dead. The Princess… pick me one of the stories. Who has seen her last?” Rothomir asked, a bit riled up.
“She’s not in Goras obviously. Never made it out is my guess,” Roran replied calmly. “The others though could be around.”
“Who? Baltoris served with half the Council seats filled. Exiled a couple of them herself just to make sure,” Rothomir argued. “Edlenn is dead. Aelrindel? The sorceress is long gone, despite all that gossip about making good with the Queen. She wasn’t as airheaded as people thought. Anfalon was last seen heading towards Quiceran’s underground road and those with him reported he stayed behind to wait for Baltoris’ return. Pelleas claims he was in Goras, but I don’t believe him. Quiceran himself was buried in his academy trying to move a cart of scrolls to safety. Elwuin found his skull ‘supposedly’ eighty years ago. Whilst of historical value according to him, that dig almost did me in financially and that ruin is unlivable still. Elas got swallowed by the waves, or eaten by Ticu if he was lucky. His sister is a crazy murderer no sane person would ever trust in his home and Baltoris surely didn’t after what had happened with her father. Ask Paeris, he’ll tell you the story, if you don’t mind the lewd details. I know my history Roran. I can go even further back if you want.”
“Despite the late Queen’s decrees, the positions remain Rothomir,” Roran told him. “Elderbloods and Elderborns shall fill the chairs. The lines present afore the First Era. That’s the law laid down by Kallister himself.”
“Another lost character. Gone since the First Era. Let’s call him dead what do you say? It’s a safe fucking bet,” Rothomir taunted and reached to refill his glass.
“I wager not on these matters, or in the field,” Roran replied. “Why is Onas beyond the Canal with my men?”
“Onas is training Pelleas’ fanatics into proper soldiers. You know like he trained you in the Young Othrim. I wanted to boost his numbers.”
“Onas left the Phalanx.”
“Eh, what’s the saying? You are the Phalanx hoplite and the Phalanx is in you. Right?” Rothomir argued with a pleased smirk. “I’ve spend fifty years with you lads. Can’t say I miss the sordid experience.”
“Rank matters. The Second is my responsibility Rothomir.”
“By the Goddess’ roses Roran! It was decided. It’s done!”
“Ulovir could have led them. Onas hasn’t left Abarat in centuries,” Roran insisted unwilling to drop the matter.
Rothomir sighed and emptied his glass. He stared at his cold platter of vegetables a little frustrated afore speaking in a tired voice.
“Ulovir left a week later for Teleniel’s Bridge. Whatever is left of it anyway,” Lord Rothomir murmured. “Elwuin wanted to test the reason behind the structures failing throughout the empire’s borders. In the field, the best experiments reveal the nature of things, he preached until I started bleeding from the ears. You ask a peasant, or the man jumping up and down the grapes out there and he’ll tell you it was the earthquakes, or you know the five volcanoes going off one after the other, but nah, Elwuin is certain there’s a flaw in our construction plans.”
“You sent Ulovir to protect Elwuin in his field explorations?”
“I tasked him to protect Darunia,” Rothomir replied. “Elwuin is unkillable, he made it out of Elauthin because he stopped to observe the moons move unnaturally for the season. Started writing a thesis about them being projections on the skies through a filter, or a medium and not solid planetary bodies, while the world burned around him. Don’t ever ask him to elucidate. That theory will send you down some really weird paths and the Realm’s edges per Elwuin.”
“What is Darunia doing over there?” Roran asked to bring him back on topic.
Rothomir shrugged his shoulders. “She wanted to go. See the ruins, check the flora beyond the Canal for her elixirs, gather sandalwood seeds and sing with the squirrels. Olonelis didn’t trust my soldiers, so I sent Ulovir on an excursion. They’ll be right back.”
“When was this?”
“A couple of months now,” Rothomir replied.
“Couldn’t you stop her? There’s a strong possibility of trouble coming our way.”
“You know I can’t really argue with her. It’s pointless. An Elderborn healer running about among the injured. Good grief!”
“She’s extremely skilled at it. Very sturdy,” Roran replied. He’d taken Darunia with him on his first attempt to break through to the ruined coast well over a hundred years ago, just after the weather had cleared.
“Well, she’s supposed to serve in the Council and in court, I’d had taken a magic affinity instead of that, something academic, even artistic for crying out loud,” Rothomir argued.
“That’s not how it’s done Rothomir. Baltoris was a fighter. You are what you are irrespective of your station.”
“Baltoris rode atop a tri-horned wyvern,” Rothomir countered. “Nobody remembered what her class was other than you probably.”
“When is Onas due back?” Roran asked him with a grimace, but before Rothomir could reply an officer walked inside briskly. Abarat’s commander of the guard, Vulas, of Nortoris.
“Lord Rothomir,” Vulas said clad in his bronze colored cuirass, the Great Tree carved on its front. Sometimes, if the weather was favorable and you casted the Long Eye spell, you could see it rising over the canopy across the great lake kilometers way. “Onas send word.”
That was convenient, Roran thought. Luthos probably hard at work to make stuff go as wrong as possible to get one thing right.
“Is he coming back?” Rothomir asked giving him his full attention. “Is the training over?”
“Ehm, he isn’t.”
That was an awkward pause on Vulas’ part, Roran noticed.
Roran stared at Vulas’ nervous face intrigued. Lord Rothomir accepted the missive from him and pored over it quickly. He paused with a deep frown and Vulas who’d waited for him to finish, gave him a second unfurled small scroll.
“A second message?” Roran asked while Lord Rothomir started reading clearly upset at the news.
“The same,” Vulas replied and Rothomir groaned and stood back on his chair.
“Goddess,” he murmured and tossed the missives on the table, next to his plate. “Tell him Vulas.”
“An advance scouting party penetrated beyond Eroshin River,” Vulas started and Roran frowned. Advance scouting party? Penetrated? “They made contact with Lord Elwuin and Lady Darunia’s group. We had casualties. Fortunately Onas arrived in time to prevent them from abducting her and the others.”
“Abducting?” Roran queried trying to wrap his mind around it. Rothomir sighed suddenly deflated and overcome with worry.
“It was a Horselords raiding party, with Zilan scouts. They killed Onas first bunch of recruits to the last one,” Vulas explained visibly frustrated. “Onas is convinced Hardir O’ Fardor will soon follow with an invasion force.”
“Savages are at the gates,” Rothomir said gloomily. “Tell him what he proposes,” he added his tone strange.
Roran stood up from his chair, his sword banging on the table.
Something was afoot here.
“He will attempt to lay a trap for him near the bridge at Eroshin,” Vulas replied. “Or negotiate.”
“Negotiate what?” Rothomir barked irate.
“He doesn’t have the men,” Roran noticed with a grimace of concern.
“Didn’t you hear what the old fool suggests?” Rothomir blasted him.
“Rothomir, if Hardir has recruited Horselords they could ruin us in the open field. What are his numbers? Does anyone know?” Roran asked them soberly.
“Pelleas reported Horselords and Anfalon. Adventurers and exiles working together,” Rothomir replied. “Old info, completely unreliable as I told you earlier.”
“The Second might not be enough,” Roran said thoughtfully.
“Every sword in Abarat would march along with you Roran,” Rothomir told him.
“How many swords?”
“Five hundred?” Rothomir replied. “Do you think Suraer will send Delmuth and his Rokae? The horses might come in handy.”
Onas had taken sixty Hoplites with him. The Second Othrim hadn’t had any new recruits as well. The same problem Rothomir faced. No one wanted to fight. A farmer had become more valuable than a soldier after the Fall. Same for hunters. Artisans were better regarded than brilliant academics like Elwuin.
Roran had four hundred Hoplites at most in camp.
And Axilyel’s rangers. If he could convince her to come along.
“If Onas offers him terms, we’re done,” Rothomir said. “That fucker will march here and take everything.”
Roran grimaced and stood back. He realized that both Zilan males were staring at him.
“Onas would never fight if there is another option on the table. He’s more a politician by now than a soldier,” he told them. “The Council might want a deal.”
“Paeris doesn’t want it. Elwuin is clueless. That’s Olonelis for sure and Onas,” Rothomir hissed seeing what was going on.
“This goes to a vote, it’s a draw at best,” Roran told him. “Unless you get Suraer on board.”
“There’s another way,” Rothomir argued. “Paeris agrees with it.”
“You want to force a battle,” Roran said. “You don’t know if we have the numbers. There’s a Wyvern involved Rothomir. Have you ever fought a Wyvern?”
“That’s no god darn Gimoss!” Rothomir blasted him. “He won’t risk the small wyvern. It’s too young. No, he’ll see if he can win without it. That’s what he did with Pelleas.”
You don’t know that.
“We have no sorcerers on our side,” Roran reminded him. “Most scattered after Edlenn got ‘suicided’ and they weren’t that many to begin with.”
“Ena is still inside the Garden somewhere. She could cast pretty darn well,” Rothomir countered.
“Who will wake her up? How are you going to break Edlenn’s eternal cocoon? With a sledgehammer?” Roran asked with a frown. “Be sensible Rothomir.”
“She used an Arachne for the spell,” Rothomir grunted. “It can be done.”
“Let her be Rothomir. She served the empire enough. Her mind broke on Plague Isles. You’ll be better off killing her,” Roran insisted.
“With you there Onas won’t be able to take control of the situation right? Vulas answers to me and the Second will follow Roran,” Rothomir stared his way intently. “Onas plan will collapse.”
“What about Olonelis? Elwuin?” Roran asked.
“I’ll deal with her,” Rothomir told him. “You make sure to get Elwuin and Darunia out of Onas hands.”
“Is the Abarat guard ready to march Vulas?” Roran asked the commander and he pressed his mouth tightly afore replying.
“Before the morrow Roran.”
“That won’t do,” Roran replied and glanced at the setting sun. “The Second can march in an hour. I give you two and that’s it, then you’re left behind.”
“You had them ready?” an amused Rothomir asked, not expecting it.
“The Main Othrim,” Roran replied, deeply affronted. “Is always ready Lord Rothomir.”
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Bellas stood rigid outside of formation, rows upon rows of Hoplites lined in columns, ten abreast. Malon at the far end of it, but on the long rectangular formation’s other side. The full face cover black helms unmoving, spear blades pointing towards the dark skies and the well-maintained muscled cuirasses gleaming in the light of the torches.
Roran cracked his neck left and right, glanced at the hard-faced veteran Axilyel and the smirking younger Ievis her longtime lover and then wore Theodas old helmet on his head.
“Lads say we’re off to fight a Wyvern sire. Any truth to it?” Bellas said and Roran grunted, Ievis who was a baby when Gimoss had laid waste of everything in the Plague Isles campaign, grinning manically excited. Axilyel who had been in the front lines scouting for them and still carried the internal and external scars of the traumatic ordeal, just nodding soberly.
“Start the march, fourth Hoplite,” he ordered him disregarding his query. “Vulas has moved down the road already. Let’s make it to the bridge afore them.”
“Second Othrim!” Bellas boomed. “Slot spears! Prepare to march! About turn!” The panoplies roared, weapons clanked and the compact Phalanx turned on its heel a hundred and eighty decrees to face east.
“Commence!” Malon barked, now leading the formation and the march started.
> While the need for personal space and hygiene drives older architects to the monumental, it also encompasses the tangible risk of the loss of pliability. The higher the structure, or the wider, the more susceptible to tremors and quakes induced from naturally occurring phenomena. We must proceed into the future of our building utilizing perhaps different materials than the rigid rock, or opt for more sensible designs. We could discover as a species, what the cosmos perhaps already knows and showcases everywhere around us. We are just too blind to see it and too prideful to admit we have been wrong. In the same vein artistry and beauty can and will be attained in a small vessel as well and the larger carafe won’t always contain the better wine.
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> ‘Scholastic’ Elwuin,
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> Academic, Scientist, philosopher, Astronomer, Engineer,
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> Member of the Queen’s Council,
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> Elderblood Council of the Twenty permanent chair,
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> Conspiracy theorist.
>
> -
>
> Inelasticity in nature & modern architecture
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> -A simple thesis-
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> Foreword to his voluminous,
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> Beyond the Plane, our Flat Realm
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> & other mysteries of the simulacrum
>
>
>
>
>
> -
>
> Found in the Royal Archives of Sinya Goras
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> Circa 228 NC,
>
> Circa 3434 IC –consolidated- (3rd Era)*
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> ----------------------------------------
>
> *(The different numbering Eras stopped changing with every new ruler with the assent to the throne of the Onyx Wyvern’s Monarch’s line)
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read it at Royalroad : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/46739/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms
& https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/47919/lure-o-war-the-old-realms
Scribblehub https://www.scribblehub.com/series/542002/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms/
& https://www.scribblehub.com/series/547709/the-old-realms/