The Dell, Western Wilds.
48th of Kielat, First month of Summer.
2139 years since the new gods came.
The village morons want to build a shrine to the gods. I told them to keep it out of the Dell. It is 10' past the border. Stupid gods.
I made a couple calls.
*-*-*
Garthax, Capital of Garthia.
48th of Kielat, First month of Summer.
2139 years since the new gods came.
The Stone Room was an easy post. You could do almost anything on duty. Apparently the last guard had a whore in, at least it smelled like it. Guardsman Hanson sat at the desk, head in hands nursing a hangover. He started, almost falling off his chair, when the small brown stone spoke for the first time in 300 years. “Hey! King boy. Whatever your name is. We need to talk.”
- - -
Liam was standing on the parade ground, watching the new recruits the king had ordered 'Just in case' when his amulet spoke to him, “Time for me to call in that favor.” Liam smiled and went to fetch his wives.
- - -
King Anderewe, third of his name, sat in the smelly Stone Room, cussing. “You know, guardsman, that thing was a gift from The Heretic. The Queen Mother's journal says he was a horrible human being, but also kind and generous. She also said 'Do what he tells you, you don't want his kind of trouble.' Now I understand what she meant.”
Guardsman Hanson's stomach was queasy, not from the hangover or the stench of the room, but from what he had heard. “Y...Yes your majesty?”
“Well, you are in the thick of it, son. Grab the cursed thing, and lets go tell the council that we are going to war.”
“Yes your Majesty.”
“Call me Andy from here on out. I hate that name, and we are probably going to be working together for a while.”
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“Y...Yes Andy?”
- - -
Millrock, Dutchy of Coxnia, the kingdom of Garthia.
48th of Kielat, First month of Summer.
2139 years since the new gods came.
Duke Magnus Ólafsson III, sat in the great hall. His seat was simple, and the Dias was barely 4' off the ground. He looked over the hastily assembled nobles, “Alright. The rumors are true, The Heretic has called us to war.”
An uproar of voices filled the hall, and he waited for a minute for the noise to settle. “Yes, I know. This is the first time he has ever asked for help, and by my ancestors, we will send help. And before any of you object, the wizard has also received a message from the king, calling for our forces to march.” He took a shaky breath. “Begin the draft.”
- - -
Gilip, capital of Demonia.
48th of Kielat, First month of Summer.
2139 years since the new gods came.
“Ladies, gentlemen, both and neither!” The speaker of the council was standing on the steps of the capital building. “The Heretic has called us to war! It is our holy duty to send forth the army to do battle with our foes from across the great veil!” He took a deep breath, “Cry 'Havoc!', and let slip the dogs of war.”
The crowd screamed, some already frothing at the mouth. In the back, the old ones who rememberd, smiled, their moment of redemption was at hand.
*-*-*
The Dell, Western Wilds.
50th of Kielat, First month of Summer.
2139 years since the new gods came.
War plans are coming together. I have no clue how troops are getting here, but they are. Liam isn't coming because he is training the recruits.
I hate the gods again. I'm a gods damned king now.
- - -
He had tried to run, but “Brandywine the Traitor” had taken him out at the knee. Then Bjorn had caught up to him with Sarah. Both were currently holding him down in front of a cheering crowd. The priest of the goat was walking forward followed by Adam, who was carrying a pillow with a familiar crown on top.
The priest stopped and arms length away from Maxwell, “Maxwell Smithson, Heretic, Favored of Bjorn and Sarah, Unjustly touched by the gods, and many other titles that have been forgotten or ignored by time; I hereby declare and affirm, by the power of the gods, that you are the King of The Dell Lands, and protector of the realms of the world.” He took the Halflings Crown from the proffered pillow, and placed it upon Maxwell's head. He yelled, “Long Live The King!” and fled the scene.
The crown started chanting the words, and Bjorn and Sarah disapeared, leaving Maxwell to his, in their opinion, well deserved fate.
- - -
51st of Kielat,
I'm not hungover. That means I died from alcohol poisoning. Again. I need to research how much I can drink before death. This stupid crown won't come off.
Work continues. I need to enchant more stones. Someday I will read that whole spell book I found. Maybe.
We will be moving out in a week.
- - -
The elven spy looked at his target, looked at the quart of poison he had fed him last night, and shuddered. That was proof. This was The Heretic, not a pretender. He shook his head. Great. Now I have to make first contact. Stupid gods. Stupid royalty. Stupid spoiled children of petty nobility...I wonder if King Maxwell needs a spy?
He sighed, and walked back to the village to make plans.