19th of Greenery, fourth month of 984:
“We are out of munitions, Sir.” Friedrich, second in command, muttered between ragged breaths as he kneeled, with a tone more lost in futility than anything else. The sounds of battle were dimming in quantity, even if they grew closer by the second. The seventh defence line, last of his name, laid in tatters below steel boots.
“The wizards?” General Gribbs asked, out of mere formality, for the screams of flying magic had stopped half an hour ago. ‘The end of a millennium!’ was the warcry of the Imperial divisions, creeping as a swarm of locusts. His gaze turned towards the raptor brigade riding at full speed against their position, ‘Fools, all of them. The perpetual war? Hah! You have treated us as distractions, throwing men every few years to chain us down, to destroy us from the inside.’. Sighing, he eyed the great cannons atop the hill, monstrous behemoths of steel as big as houses. The spots near them, devoid of ammunition. The exhauster gunners pale from fear and tiredness.
“Out of everything. The surrounding lands have no mana left to give.” As he had regained his breath, he stood up again.
The pangs of hunger as Gribbs unsheathed his sword were another symptom of their dire lack of supplies. This week-long battle had done little to help too. The ground getting shakier, he grimaced as the leftover and routing republican brigades were slowly swallowed up, one by one.
His second in command raised the republican banner, battered and dirtied, above his head. “Sir, the Star of the Empire is spearheading the charge.” The surrounding soldiers and knights readied themselves for their last stand.
“At least we die with honour then. Brace for impact.” The raptors close enough to see their wet fangs and hungry eyes, he puffed his chest as much as he could, if only to diminish his dirtied armour. ‘The only Imperial commander with brains has graced me with the killing blow… Elenia, I implore you, do not let the imperials ravage our lands too much.’
With a warcry, he tried to strike the first raider that came near him, only for his sword to be parried and thrown away. The second rider, the so-called Star of the Empire, was his next opponent or, more accurately, his mount was. The raptor ducked, evading a hasty punch, and bit the general in the throat, ripping it and causing a fountain of blood.
As the sound of his dying men reached his ears, he smirked, looking down on the imperials for the last time.
Finally, No Man’s Land had been tamed by Imperial hands. A total of a million, two hundred thousand imperials had participated in the raid, against a total of twenty thousand republicans fully armed and fifty thousand militia men. Now, about five hundred thousand bodies would feed the remaining fauna of this cursed terrain.
Amongst the victorious screams of the last remaining army, the unnatural red sky thundered away, above cracked plains and damaged mountains. A hollow victory if not for the rich lands beyond.
The last plot of the Republican alliance had failed. As the Empire had averted civil war, they had had no more cards in their hands.
Soon enough, the Imperials would restart the march, and there would be no more walls to stop them, for vultures were already circling above the last defiant humans. Discontent with the rationing, the war progression and the economic situation had been steadily sickening the alliance. It had started to get really bad two hundred years ago and it had not stopped. Once the news of the defeat sounded in empty halls of spoilt palaces, they would have an united front no more.
The will of the Fenix Dynasty would be ensured on all of the old Imperial Lands. Only the Theocracy would remain. But the Empire loved war, and it would remain a problem for not much longer.
…………..
“Lady Soral.” Priest Hulme had grown tired of the apathy of his lady. “If you have the leeway to partake in the scenery across the window, I can presume that you already know about the formation of our religion, right?”
Soral waved his hand dismissively, the army was late by one day and that was very unprofessional. Her worry was starting to surface and she had not the will nor interest to listen to a repetitive story.
Not turning back, she answered, her voice a monotone, “The great rebel Sudaj, after praying earnestly for days and nights, gained the power to burn to ashes the Fifth Vampire Emperor, dying in the process, and freeing all of the Imperial lands from the clutches of the undead.”
Priest Hulme sighed and, shaking his head, started to admonish her. “You swore a binding in a ceremony, my Lady. Taking this lightly could be dangerous.”
“I answered you, didn’t I? Annoyance seeped in her tone.
“You answered with the Imperial version.”
Surprised by the rough and serious tone of the, usually, meek priest, she turned towards him.
“Finally starting to pay attention?” Hilme smirked, even if it carried his inexperience in trying to look smug.
“I will act like I didn’t hear anything, priest Hilme.” Slight concern in her tone.
“You made a Covenant, my lady. I will have to break the laws and speak heresy for your sake. You may judge or report me after the fact but, please, hear me out till the end.”
Not giving her the time to argue, Hilme started. “Our past is not as white as it has been made to be, my lady. Sudaj was the right hand of the Forth Vampire Emperor, and an accomplice in his murder at hands of his son. A being powerful and inhuman. He was not a butcher, but he saw humans and demihumans as nothing.”
Soral sat properly and cursed in her mind. Hilme trusted her too much.
Hilme grabbed a quill and started to draw on a paper, “He did what he had to do and what he did not have to do. He was neither a bad nor a good ruler. What he was was cruel and fickle, acting as he wanted on his turf, only to sate his boredom. He joined hands with the Fifth Emperor, by then the eight prince, for that petty and silly reason. Doubling his Duchy or his influence meant nothing. He had grown bored of life itself, for he had lived far too long.”
“...”
“...” Hilme coughed, ”Why did he change, you ask? Well, he fell in love with a human. At first sight even. A simple and mundane reason like that made an eternal Empire, that had withstood dozens millenia, fall. Their continuation of a status quo, barring and destroying all new scientific and magic developments to maintain their power, all proved worthless in front of the very nature of undead, selfish to the utmost.”
He moved in his chair and moved his hand as to ease the effort of drawing, “But that did not make him a good person, a good undead, nor did he gain the favours of his loved one. He was still a monster. And, as the Sixth Emperor took his throne, his treasured person died, away from him and never having reciprocated his affections. The only thing they left behind was their tomb, which had to be constructed by Sudaj, and a child.”
“The only thing he thought when he picked the child was that it was a memento of his loved one. Until their innocence grew on him. He finally received love, even if it was the love of a parent-child relationship. And he finally understood what he had been destroying with his own hands.”
Sadness coming to Hilme’s voice, “He confessed upon the child once they reached maturity. He showed them the world he had made of his lands by his own hands. And he was rejected as the monster he was.” Hilme moved forward his drawing, an amateurish copy of the holy symbol of Zun, and frowned, “The very next day, alone, he kneeled before the Sun and, as his flesh melted and burned, as he came to know all types of pain, he apologised from the bottom of his heart. But that was a coward’s way out, and, in anger, our God granted him the power to walk beneath the Sun. ‘How dare a creature that does what it pleases beneath the Moon to try to make me clean up his mess?’ A very human-like thought, yes?”
Soral did not interject, lost in the tale.
“But our lord is one of justice, and acting in anger is its antithesis, ergo, he granted him a wish. Sudaj asked but a simple question, betraying our God’s expectatives. ’Did I really love them, or was it just a whim of mine?’ he asked, a query born of pain and regret. Zun’s answer was also simple, for he was reminded of his own loved one, the Moon. The sky shined brighter for a few seconds and bathed in light a particular place. The tomb of his love. ‘Go. For you already know the answer.’”
“Forced to walk under the sun, for he could not use the shadows to move, he took in the views of his city. The city where his loved one had lived and that his adopted child now habited. Every diseased sapient was etched in his mind, as he remembered the times his loved one had fallen ill. Every hungry child made his blood boil. Once he reached the tomb, he realised what he had done wrong. It hadn’t been about him. Not about what he really felt or wanted, but about the thoughts of them. He had not been worthy of them, not of the love of his loved one nor of his child, for he had never been able to look past his own wishes.”
Hilmes’ voice lowered to a whisper, “He may have loved them deeply, but he had not tried to better himself to be worthy of their company. And he wept, for he had been the sole reason. He had been the thing that had made his wishes unattainable. But that realisation didn’t absolve him of anything. The wrongs, the evil, the corruption, the tyranny. All that he had done willingly. So he grabbed his sword and bowed to turn the world into one where his loved one would have reciprocated his advances. To turn himself into one who would have been loved. To attain that worth, he changed himself.”
“He recruited whoever he felt was worthy and challenged the Sixth Emperor before his tenth year of ruling. And he died fighting him. He did not change all that he wanted. He didn’t better himself all he had wanted. He died before he felt he had done enough. Before he felt worthy of apologising to all the sapients he had wronged.” Hilmed picked up the low quality drawing and got up from his chair. “And because he had become a person that could think like that, he was granted a chance to atone to all he had wronged before, directly. That decision may not have been just but justice is, after all, subjective.”
“...was he forgiven?”
“Atoning for forgiveness’ sake would defeat the purpose of trying to become a better person, wouldn’t it? This is the lesson that this tale tries to teach us. He fought to better himself because he knew he had to be better. He did not do it for a reward or an end point. He simply had come to want to be better. ” He looked at the window and added, “We will continue tomorrow.”
Soral followed his gaze and located the returning army.
…….
“I see.” Soral’s hand squeezed the throne’s armrests. Her voice made Gemebs, her new right hand, jump, “Send a letter to the Imperial palace with all the evidence of Noct’s wrongdoings we have accumulated. Write it as quickly as possible.” Soral turned to the pillars of the left, to a shadowy figure hiding behind them, “Commander Moonhide, send scouting parties and try to locate the fleeing undead or, at least, any clue of their location.”
Gemebs and Moonhide nodded and rushed out.
“Our orders?” Asked High Commander Andras, not raising his head.
“The men at arms should rest. You have a month to try and reinforce them as much as you can, we may be ordered to join the hunt and, even if we are not, our only option is to act as reckless as we may afford to try and dim the suspicions the Capital may have of us. We do not have the men to prosecute the pirates even if we wanted to, and those cities sided with them after all. You may go.”
“It shall be done.” Andras raised and turned to leave without sparing her a gaze. Less than a minute after they were already gone. And Andras had not looked at her once.
“Do not blame him, Lady Soral. He is already blaming himself enough.” Whispered Sorak.
“I never intended to.”
“...What do you have planned then?”
“The bishop knew our facade and was happy to play along with it. But only if she could turn me into a puppet. She has struck against me. Even so, my hands and resources are tied. If I call attention to this matter, Adelene will win.”
Sorak rested her hand onto the pommel of her broken sword.
Soral turned towards her, regret in her eyes, “I am sorry. You are my last asset. Could you deal with it? I am sure you could assure her of my loyalty. You can accept the conditions you see necessary, but breaking my vows is something I must not give.”
“No need to fret. You can trust me on this.” Her eyes revealed nothing.
……
Her church had always pestered everyone about compassion. Sorak had always taken it for a virtue. But, and as Paladin’s words still danced in her mind, she came to realise the twisted truth. For who did they preach compassion? Was it for the victim that had been harmed or felled down? No. It had always been for the criminal.
Compassion for the debt collector who had driven a family to famine. They would learn from their mistakes. Compassion for the Lord, who had abused his powers but who could outgrow that phase. Compassion for the soldier, whom the horrors of war had carried him to pillage and brutality. Compassion and protection for the ones still alive, not justice or retribution for their crimes.
Her’s was a faith that loved to maintain the current regimen. A faith of the elites. To be good and compassionate, to pardon and protect. To never take revenge, to always uphold the rule of law, even to our distaste. ‘Elenia, Goddess of Protection and Compassion, ought to be fuming, for we have perverted her teachings. But she isn’t.’
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Her steps came to a halt in front of the church of Elenia of Bonfire. Two paladins guarded it’s gates. ‘The very people that followed Elenia had tried to kill a child to amass power for themselves. And she didn’t care. She still let them take their powers.’
As she unsheathed her broken sword, she forced herself to take another step forward. Her sword, which now was half steel half fire, was raised by her shaking hands. ‘She knows what I am about to do and she still gives me power. Does she not care, or can she not act otherwise?’
“Halt! High Paladin Sorak, what are y..”
A diagonal cut broke through his armour, bisecting him in two and cauterising the cut. Two halves fell onto the ground as the other paladin dashed on the attack. ‘But paladins can fall. I have seen it myself. I have felled some. Their flames were distorted, blackened. Why does mine stand blue?’
A parry with her shield left the second man wide open for a stab, which burned his insides and destroyed his lungs, not granting him the relief of screaming as he stumbled onto the ground. A kick opened the gates, creating pandemonium inside as the civilians ran away. She stalked towards the praying room, knowing every second wasted was a chance of the city guards catching onto her. She was too caught up on her thoughts to notice the absence of guards.
‘Were they evil paladins, deprived of morality? Or did they fight against the same corruption that threatened my lady?...’ Her monologue was cut short as she entered the praying room.
Reacting by reflexes, she raised the shield to block a ray of blue flames.
“Heretic Sorak, I never expected you to, in your depravity, fall to the viles of the undead’s promises of power!” Screamed, angered, Bishop Adelene, her hands breathing blue fire. The paladins guarding her readied themselves for combat.
Sorak didn’t answer as she threw her shield to the left side of the room. Grabbing her sword with two hands, she strengthened her footing and locked eyes with her old bishop.
“What short of madness has caused you to turn against us?! What wretched promises?!” It was a perfect act, or it would have been if she had hidden her smirk. She had moved on with a new plan it would seem. Sorak didn’t care.
“Your way is wrong. I know what is righteous and your schemes go against all of our faith!” Sorak had reached a simple conclusion. She hadn’t fallen. In other words, her Goddess had granted her the power to make things right. And she would start her reformation here. ‘This is what you want, Elenia? It must be! Compassion and protection for those unable to stand on their feet or tails! And I will see it come true!’
Adelene narrowed her eyes, all amusement gone already, “Evilness must be eradicated. And you know it. What I am doing is protecting the Empire from chaos.”
“You are right about one thing. Corruption must be purged.” Sorak sprung into action, rushing towards Adelene.
Her opponent marched a step forward and, directing her right hand’s palm forward, evoked a storm of blue fire against Sorak.
Breathing in, Sorak waited until the last moment before acting. Her convictions all turned steel solid, and her pride on her new path burned as bright as her flame. She could now stand tall, taller than ever. She was doing the right thing. This was the truth. And she would prove it. She would reform her beloved faith and bring it to the ideals she knew it should have. To the true ideals. To her standard.
Another diagonal slash, this time from down to up, cut the blue flames in two. The incredulous face of Adelene as her faith lost the duel turned into confusion. Only when the sword of Sorak impaled her by the guts did the realisation of his defeat come to her mind. Beaten by her own faith. Betrayed by her Goddess. Her fire dissipated, only the last embers turning black, not that anyone realised as they melted well with the slate floor.
She had done terrible things for the greater good. Things that had shaken her ideals so many times. But she had persevered, even if with less ferocity. And this had been her reward.
She fell to the floor as Sorak raised her sword as high as she could.
“Faithful of Elenia! This is not the way our Goddess expected us to travel!” Sorak bellowed. “She has chosen me to correct our wrongdoings!” Her flame burned with the intensity of a pyre. “And I will walk this path! Are you with our Goddess, or against her?! Do you agree to punish the week or to stand besides them?! Our bishop has schemed to murder our rightful Lady. Is that the way of our church?!”
Adelene died before listening to the whole charade, for she now knew the truth. She had lost because her convictions were less certain than Sorak’s. She died because she thought her actions were wrong, not because of the difference in faith. Elenia was not the Goddess of Compassion and Protection, and she would carry that secret with her. As all the fallen paladins had.
…………….
Ilkom’s second in command, Blindbeard, travelled towards the captain’s login. The deck of ‘Sore Feet’, the pirate flagship, was as chaotic as always. Capable of housing almost three thousand souls, it was a gargantuan ship that almost reached three hundred metres and a beam of roughly eighty. It was a masterwork of woodwork and magicraft. Four great sails and another 4 “normal” ones dressed up this great constrict, even if it was propelled with wind casted from mages more often than not.
Its armament was up to its terrifying size, with a total of six hundred cannons in total, each capable of reaching a target at five kilometres. At the front, a great cannon stood, integrated into the ship's bow, with metalcraft seamlessly integrating it as another part of the ship.
“...Come on, landwellers, listen to us…”
And the rowdy crew was working against the clock to keep the ship as well oiled as a noble’s sword. Still, Blindbeard was too scared to notice the recently composed shanty the tribulation had cooked. And, thanks to the cargo full of gold and raider furniture, their sailing was so smooth that he had little else to distract himself with.
“...We will sing you a song from beneath…”
Climbing the stairs to the quarterdeck, he lingered in front of the door. He still refused to believe his captain had come that gravely injured from his little duel. Having been granted the order to pillage the cities that had allied themselves with their rebellion had been nice, and had filled their pockets more than anything, but he had been thin skinned lately. Way more than normal.
“...And tell you how we live on our ships…”
And he had his fair misgivings over going back to imperial lands after this voyage, assaulting the capital even! Ilkom had always been reckless, but only when he was sure he would win. And he had stopped winning all engagements.
“...Before we all return to the sea…”
‘No sense dilly-dallying.’ Breathing in, he knocked on the door. Not ten seconds later, it was opened by none other than Ilkom, giving Blindbeard a lightly scare.
“Enjoying the weather, Blind? Make haste or go away.”
“Captain, I…”
Ilkom scoffed, “No sense talking outside, come on in.”
A highly decorated quarter, full of comfortable furniture and paintings. Taking a seat on a high quality chair, Blindbeard interlocked his hands and cut to the point.
“I disagree with your plan, captain.”
Ilkom grabbed two nearby mugs and sat behind his desk. “Fire and Stone, ale, wine, rum?”
“Water.” His voice carried an edge of irritation.
Ilkom gestured with his head to a wall, “You got lots of it outside.”, and poured two drinks of red wine. He lazily grabbed the drink and took a long sip.
Running out of patience, Blindbeard continued, “We have nothing to gain.”
“Right on that.”
“We risk a lot!” He raised his voice.
“You are speaking only truths today.”
Getting up with too much haste, and knocking down his chair, “Can you take me seriously, captain?!”
“No.” Ilkom slowly finished his drink and, raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Is that all?” His gaze went downwards as he refilled his mug, “If it broke…”
Sighing, Blindbear upped the chair to its earlier position and sat again. Thinking about a good method to reason with his captain, he started to speak in a soft voice, “Friend, can you not just bury the finger? We all have lost dozens of times, you losing only once is a legend out of itself.”
“Bury the finger?” The air chilled to a freezing degree. Ilkom sat properly, nay, inched forward on his chair. His decorated eye patch hid part of the hideous scar. “Are you comparing me to that idiotic bastard of Karax? The God that lost one of his two realms, one of his two titles, to a damned bet? And to a woman to bot? The effeminate bastard that was so impressed by that wench that he cut down his finger and buried it as a symbol of respect?”
Blindbeard gulped, a drop of cold sweat falling from his forehead,“You are not acting like the captain we know.”
“I am not the captain you knew, right? After all, you are accusing me of having lost, right?” His right eye had a tinge of madness. “And now, you, instead of helping me in my quest to regain my honour, as a good friend, as a good crewman, should. You tell me to, throw down and bury the finger? That is not how the crew I know acts.”
“I fear for your safety!” Real concern mixed in his angered tone. “You haven’t healed your left eye nor your scars! It was a magical sword for Eclair’s sake!”
Ilkom grabbed one of his daggers and stabbed it into the table, knocking down the two mugs and drenching all in wine, “He took my eye and until I take two I won’t have mine back.”
Blindbeard was not a fool, he knew this was starting to tread on treacherous waters. Sighing again, he gave up, “So be it captain. We trust you after all.”
“Oh, so you are burying the finger to show me respect? Nethers precious, I have a subordinate that is way too good for me.” An evil laugh carried the cold to Blindbeard’s blood. The next words sealed his fate. “Lucky you, my daggers are very sharp. I assure you that they will make a clean cut.” And his smile was just a kick while he was down.
Progressively more pale, he nodded, “Of course, captain. For that is the respect you deserve.”
Biting down his scream, he grabbed his finger and, blood leaking out, he rushed out of the cabin.
“Don’t forget to return my dagger!” He heard as he closed the door.
……….
Andras didn’t know if he was sitting on the chair or on the ground. Still, the mug full of…full of something was in range of his hand, so he tried to pick it up. The mug sidestepped his hand and evaded behind a bottle, which Andras’ hand hit, causing it to fall down and, rolling on the table, collide against the ground, breaking in countless fragments and bathing the floor with its liquid.
His mind didn’t register the sounds for it had travelled back in time.
A shadow grabbed the bottle before it hit the ground.
“You should eat something, Andras.”
“I have forgotten how to cook. She…she was the one who always did it. When I came back from work, she was always there, with a smile. Ne…Never thanked her enough.” His voice cracked, full of the tiredness and raspiness that only crying could cause.
Noct walked towards another chair near the table and sat silently. But that was enough.
“She was a bit under the weather when we left. She said she had not slept well. I, I wasn’t there when she needed me. I left her when she needed me the most!” A bottle flew by the room, colliding against a wall as a small tear builded up in his eyes.
“Is that so?” The soft words of Noct didn’t reach him.
“I knew I had to stay with her. I wanted to! But I didn’t doubt her words, too full of a happy life that I am too bloodied to have! Why didn’t I doubt it?! Why didn’t I stay with her?!” His hands dented the table. “It didn’t cross my mind! That, that something like this could happen! Who is going to raise our kid now?! Why was it her and not me?! Did my sins carried up to her?! I killed her, right?” His hands started trembling.
Noct clenched his fists. “You are right.”
The cold and unexpected words had finally grabbed Andras’ attention.
“What type of husband doesn’t brood over her spouse every day? How could you dare to leave her alone while you marched to war?” Poison slipped in, a tiny party of him asking him why he had come here, what he was trying to accomplish. “Now your child is an orphan, for his last parent has given up on him. You should have doubted. You didn’t love her enough.”
Andras’ punch knocked Noct, causing him and the chair he had sat to crash against the ground. The next cut his lip and knocked a tooth.
“Don’t you dare utter those curses!” Another punch. This one broke his nose. “I loved her more than anything in this world and I would give anything to switch back!” Another one. Less effective. “Felix is the most precious thing she has ever gifted me, I would never leave him alone!” The last punch lacked any real strength. “Do…do not dare to say that I did. I did everything in my hands to, to…I didn’t…”
Andras broke down, crying on his fours amid an ocean of broken crystal and empty bottles. Seconds gave way to minutes.
“See? If you already know you did everything you could, don’t wallow in it. It was cruel, yes. But so is our world. It happened without warning or a second chance, and this is how it is. Blaming yourself will only cost you your kid.” Noct, with a bloodied face, said as he helped Andras to the chair again. “If you ever need something to hit, here I am. I suck at fancy words so don’t expect those from me. And,“ Noct turned to look at the room, “, it would be way better than this.”
“I, I cannot stop, Noct. It seems like yesterday when we had our child. When he first crawled, when he first talked. I, I cannot forget.”
“You should never forget, Andras. It is the place she is kept alive after all.”
“...How will I fill this emptiness?” Empty eyes fell back on a bottle.
“You won’t. It shall always remain.” Noct patted Andras on the shoulder, “But you can build around it. After all,“ Noct gazed to the roof, “, you have a whole future along with your child.”
Andras grabbed his own hands to stop them from shaking, “Can, can I really manage to raise him properly?”
“That is yours to achieve. For starters, you will work twice as hard. You will fret twice. You will care and love twice. You will fear and worry twice.” Noct got up and started to clean up the table. “But there’s a reason I said ‘will’. You are High Commander Andras, strongest swordsman of the whole north. And you are up to the challenge, I can vouch for it. You just have to shut up, clean this mess, and return to being a father. Alcoholism doesn’t fit your character either.”
Andras let out a strainer laugh, “That was the worst comforting speech I have ever heard. And that says more about you than me. You suck at fighting.”
Noct shrugged, “Your problem, not mine.”
Andras got up, shaked his head, and crouched down again to clean up the shards, “You should learn to say something more than excuses.”
The memory got Andras to his feet again. Checking that his sword and shield were still correctly fixed, he headed to the door, only to open it and find his daughter outside.
“Feeling better?” She asked a tad too softly, almost scared of reminding him of the bad time he had had.
“Yes. A few drinks always help. I am going out to discuss some strategies with Lady Soral.” Fire has returned to his eyes.
“I see.” Samil forced him to lock eyes with her. After a few seconds, she added in a cold tone, “Come back alive.” And entered the house.
Andras nodded and started to walk towards the palace. Energy had returned to his pace.
……………..