Vasco "the Cleaver" stood atop a craggy outcrop, his silhouette etched against the dusky sky, the fading light painting him as part of the twilight. The vast expanse of the Eldergrove unfurled below him—a verdant chasm separating realms of man, a place where myths tread heavily upon the earth.

Here, in this untouched sanctuary, he sensed a new chapter of legend waiting to be written by his hand.

His band of brigands, numbering almost two hundred, sprawled loosely behind him. Their murmurs and idle conversations drifted aimlessly amidst the evening breeze. Tents and campfires dotted the area like flickering stars amid the grass.

Their journey had been arduous, a path fraught with the promise of peril and the lure of unfathomable rewards. They had entered the valley not in search of settlements or spoils but to carve a stronghold, a dominion from which Vasco could forge a legacy to outlast the scorn he had suffered in his past life. The brigands wanted more than loot; they sought a land to claim, a realm to shape in their image.

And Vasco intended to provide.

"Boss," Jarek's voice cut through the evening din. "The boys are sayin' these woods feel... old. Like the sort of old that makes you think twice about what's watchin' ya." The Aetherframe operator's words carried an unfamiliar weight. Rare was Jarek Voltstorm ever unsettled.

Vasco ignored his associate's unease. Instead, he relished the atmosphere. "Old?" Vasco tasted the word and savored its meaning. He inhaled a lungful of the valley's primal air. "These woods are old, Jarek. Older than any god's temple or king's throne. But it's just land, and land can be claimed, can be owned."

Jarek's Aetherframe loomed behind him. Tempest—named for its thundering stomps and crackling arcana—was the largest frame Vasco's ragtag group had ever confiscated. Built for battle and constructed from reinforced Gwyndyrall plates, Tempest boasted a lumbering and brutish appearance, armored with thick plates and armed with a plethora of magitech weaponry.

"Easy fer ye to say," Jarek spat. The Aetherframe operator rested his arms on Tempest's knee joint, and his gaze lingered warily into the surrounding foliage. "Ye don't feel the prickles running down yer skin."

"Prickles?" Vasco echoed mockingly. He turned and shot his companion a condescending scowl. "Jarek, ye spineless cur, I expected better. Ye'd think the fearsome 'Voltstorm' wouldn't piss his pants at the sight of trees."

"It's not the bleedin' trees," Jarek protested defensively. Pointing toward the forest depths, he hissed, "It's whatever lurks inside."

"Inside, ye say?" Vasco followed the line drawn by his colleague. Scanning the dense foliage shrouding the valley's innermost regions, his lips curved upward into a cruel sneer. "Ah, and ye say lurks, eh? Whatever could ye mean? Hmm?" Vasco feigned a contemplative expression. "Lurks implies somethin' is there. Somethin' hidden. Ye fear the unseen, Jarek?"

"Boss, I'm tellin' ye," Jarek urged. "Y'hear the whispers and rustlings in the bushes. Somethin' ain't right here."

Vasco disregarded the operator's concerns. Chuckling derisively, he jabbed a thumb against his own chest. "Whatever lurks here will not stop Vasco the Cleaver. Gods nor beast shall deny me what is due. Ye can bet yer last copper that."

He brandished his signature blade—his namesake—with a flourish. Spinning the cleaver expertly around his grip, he carved an imaginary foe. "Aye. The Eldergrove has plenty to offer. Mark my words. Land. Spoils. Glory."

Vasco envisioned a stronghold crafted from the Eldergrove's bounty. A fortress forged from timber and stone, standing imperiously against the ravages of time, a bastion worthy of his reign. Such a kingdom required citizens, vassals to swear fealty and heed his word. He could cultivate a following from the valley's wilderness—brigands, vagabonds, and mercenaries alike.

Jarek muttered discontentedly beneath his breath, but Vasco ignored his subordinate. Trudging down the rocky outcrop, Vasco surveyed his minions. Their numbers had swelled recently, and his recruitment had attracted the bold and the brazen. Among the newcomers included a handful of Arcanists and Artificers—prizes worth their salt.

Maintaining his authoritative swagger, Vasco made his way toward his tent. Passing a pair of brigands, he barked an order. "Boy, fetch me ale." Addressing the other, he demanded, "Y'other lad, bring me food."

"Right away, boss," came the prompt replies.

Upon entering his lodgings, Vasco flopped unceremoniously upon his bedroll. Resting his cleaver against a wooden table, he exhaled a weary sigh. Idly, his fingers roamed instinctively toward the scars adorning the left half of his face. He massaged the rugged disfigurement, his touch gentle yet full of contempt.

Memories surfaced from the recesses of his mind. Memories Vasco had sought tirelessly to bury. The echoes of his failures and humiliations—a time of misery and despair—had become shackles and chains. The past dragged him relentlessly along the abyss. Yet Vasco refused defeat. He clawed, kicked, and fought—determined to escape the abyss and rise again.

Clenching his fist, he cursed softly. "Ye gods and yer games. Ye toy and tease. Curse ye all. Curse ye to the Void and beyond!"

The pair of lackeys returned with a tray of meat and drink. Entering his tent wordlessly, they positioned the refreshments upon the table and excused themselves. Vasco paid them no heed. Rising from his bedroll, he seated himself at the table. Pouring his mug full, Vasco tossed a roasted haunch into his mouth and washed his food with a mouthful of ale.

The meat's juices coated his tongue, its savory taste and fragrance a pleasant reprieve. He hadn't consumed properly for several days—not since embarking upon their expedition. Their rations had depleted rapidly due to their burgeoning ranks, and their supply reserves had run dangerously low.

Vasco had sent a portion of his brigands into the Eldergrove to replenish their stocks. Unfortunately, no game dwelled within the forest depths, and their attempts had yielded nothing. Consequently, the men returned hungry and empty-handed.

Frowning, Vasco devoured his meal. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, and his displeasure amplified his irritation. Finishing his ale, he slammed the cup petulantly. Reaching for the pitcher, his palm encountered the vessel's barren interior.

"Empty? Boy!" Vasco hollered indignantly. Stomping from the confines of his tent, he located a nearby minion. Grabbing the startled lad, Vasco shook him vehemently. "Where's me drink? Where's more haunch? Why'm I eatin' bones? Do ye not respect the Cleaver? Is that yer intention?!"

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"S-sorry, boss. S'empty. Cook ran out," the terrified young man stammered. Vasco released his captive, and the lackey crumpled helplessly against the ground. Crawling backward hastily, he pleaded, "Cook's huntin' fer more."

Vasco's fury cooled. Controlling his temper, his scowl morphed into a stern glower. Fixing the trembling lackey with an intimidating glare, he growled. "See ta' it. Be quick. Else, Vasco will feed ye to the wolves. Go!"

Watching the lackey flee pitifully, Vasco regained his bearings. Composing his demeanor, he retraced his steps.

"Boss," Silas' voice emanated sharply from behind.

"Eh? Shadowweave?" Vasco spun around irritably, his glare sharp. "Better be important."

"Reports. Scout's arrived," Silas disclosed. The Arcanist's hood obscured his features, casting a hazy outline around the edges. Shadows swirled conspicuously around his robes. "They found a town. Settlement. About a day's march northeast."

"A town, ye say?" Vasco repeated curiously.

Odd. Had there been any news of a settlement established within the Eldergrove? Vasco didn't recall receiving any intel. The valley was vast; rumors and hearsays were easy to miss. Still...

"Details?" Vasco demanded. Crossing his arms, he waited impatiently. Silas didn't disappoint.

"Population is uncertain. Estimated around a few thousand. Buildings are sturdy, wall fortified. Armed personnel patrol the perimeter. Standard procedures. Defenses are sound. Vigilant." Silas reported efficiently, his description curt and concise.

"A few thousand? Armed personnel?" Vasco digested the information. Rubbing his beard contemplatively, he frowned.

Something's not addin'. His instincts pricked him. Maybe that was why there was a road leading through the Eldergrove. Vasco hadn't considered its origins earlier. The valley was rarely explored or traversed. Too treacherous. Too unpredictable. Travelers and merchants preferred safer routes. Why establish a road, then? Unless...that route led to the settlement.

"Any idea who established the settlement? Why would there be a bloody town inside the Eldergrove?!" Vasco barked, his irritation rising. Silas' response did not appease him.

"Unknown. Town lacks an emblem," Silas stated. The Arcanist's hood titled inquiringly. "Boss, should we scout deeper? Dig deeper for details?"

"Aye. Do that." Vasco waved a dismissive hand. Turning away dismissively, he resumed his vigil. The shadows cast by the descending dusk seemed to stir, and Vasco swore he heard whispers and murmurs drifting from their depths. Shaking his head, he dispelled his paranoia. Probably the wind. "Scout the surroundings. Dig deeper. Find out everything. Get me details."

"Understood." Silas retreated and departed.

Left alone with his musings, Vasco's attention was divided. His ambition and intuitions warred, prompting a dilemma.

Establishing a settlement implied an abundance. Resources. Riches. Prospects. Vasco couldn't ignore the opportunity. Yet caution was essential. Risk required a reward. Uncertainties were costly. Vasco couldn't gamble on assumptions and hopes.

Should he strike the settlement? Raid the town and plunder its spoils? But...what if the settlement had an ally or patron? Vasco couldn't risk antagonizing a faction. Territorial skirmishes could result in a bloodbath. Vasco's forces weren't numerous, and his brigands lacked the logistics and provisions required for a prolonged campaign.

"Is something bothering you?" a voice inquired smoothly from behind him.

"Xellos. Ye damnable sneak," Vasco cursed. Releasing his weapon, he scowled. "Where did ye slink off to this time?"

It was annoying enough that Silas had a penchant for appearing and disappearing, but now there was this newcomer. Vasco had recruited him several weeks ago—another Arcanist, he presumed—but the man's mysterious and elusive behavior unnerved him.

"Just exploring the vicinity. Observing," Xellos responded. Stepping closer, he maintained a respectable distance. His mannerisms and demeanor exuded politeness and aplomb. "Is something troubling you? You seem distracted."

"Aye. Troublesome," Vasco muttered. Hesitating, he debated his options. Xellos possessed an air of competency and reliability. Might as well. Vasco gestured him nearer. "Come. Join me."

Xellos obeyed. Approaching the craggy outcrop, he mimicked Vasco's posture, leaning his weight against the precipice.

"New information. Scout's brought back news," Vasco disclosed. Keeping his vision trained ahead, he recounted Silas' findings. Xellos listened silently. "Town lies north. Northeast. Population's unknown. Armed. Protected. Ye have any thoughts? Opinions?"

Xellos remained quiet, and Vasco observed his contemplative demeanor. Several minutes passed. Vasco waited.

"The town sounds interesting. Attacking could net lucrative gains. Why the hesitation?" Xellos finally asked.

Vasco grunted. He expected the question. "Plunderin' settlements is tricky. Risky. Opportunities can become liabilities. Ye raid a town expecting spoils, and ye find an allied force protecting it. No. I won't risk pissin' on a fire while ignorantly hoping for rain."

"Fair assessments. Agreed," Xellos concurred. His hood swayed minutely, indicating a subtle nod. "However...attacking a settlement is the opportunity you've been searching for. The Eldergrove has limited prospects. Resources and treasures are finite."

Vasco didn't respond. His suspicions heightened. Something was off. Xellos' words had a strange...weight...to them. Coaxing and persuasive, as if his speech contained an intangible pressure. Vasco didn't dwell on the odd sensation. He pushed aside his concerns.

"True," Vasco admitted. Casting a sideways glance, he examined Xellos' cloaked profile. "Ye've a point. Raidin' the settlement will provide a solid foothold. But what if—"

"Consider the town's riches. Its resources," Xellos interjected. Stepping closer, he edged Vasco's doubts and qualms. His tone took on a seductive note, enticing and inviting. "Think about the spoils. What are you afraid of? Your men are skilled. Veterans. Capable. One settlement shouldn't prove insurmountable."

"Aye...perhaps," Vasco agreed halfheartedly. Doubts persisted. "One settlement's not the issue. The town could have an ally." Vasco recalled the road leading through the Eldergrove. Someone established that road. Someone facilitated the settlement's construction. "Raidin' a defended location might ignite unnecessary fires."

Xellos's hood tilted. Vasco imagined him raising an eyebrow inquisitively. "Unnecessary fires? Fire's an inevitability. Eventually, conflict will occur. Whether or not you attack the settlement, someone will." Xellos paused, his statement taking on an ominous edge. "Fire exists. Better you fan its flames than allow someone else to stoke the blaze."

Vasco pondered his argument. Xellos was correct. Conflict could not be avoided. Territory and resources were finite. Eventually, the brigands would require a permanent foothold.

"Ye propose I seize the initiative, then," Vasco surmised. His confidence resurfaced. Xellos' counsel strengthened his conviction. "Take control. Strike when the iron's hot. Claim the settlement as our own."

"Precisely. Attack. Seize. Control. Establish your rule. Your authority," Xellos persuaded. Raising an arm, he splayed his palm invitingly. Vasco glimpsed the symbols adorning his digits. Strange marks. Intricately arranged runes. "Lead. Command. Become the victor."

Vasco didn't resist the enticement. Xellos' conviction washed over him, bolstering his doubts and alleviating his anxieties. Vasco grasped the offered limb resolutely.

"Aye. Lead. Command. Victor. Ye're right. I'll seize the settlement. Make its lands ours. Carve a home fit fer my reign." Vasco's grip tightened. Snorting, he grinned. "Follow my lead. Ye're right. Enough delay."

Turning abruptly, Vasco stormed towards his followers. Xellos trailed behind him languidly, and Vasco bellowed a command, his decree ringing loudly across the brigade.

"Get yer lazy asses ready, curs! Up! Gear and armor! Grab yer weapons! We march!" Vasco brandished his cleaver. Spinning the blade threateningly, he roared, "We move tonight! March north! We'll raid the settlement! Seize their riches! Carve a stronghold fer our dominion!"

Cheers and cries erupted simultaneously.

He basked in the enthusiasm.

Motivating his men and restoring their fervor was crucial. Vasco desired unified support. Stir their aspirations. Fuel their lust. The Eldergrove provided an opportunity. Vasco would ensure they reaped its bounties.