The sun shone through the cloudy sky of Valenfrost, a first in months. It was a sign that Frost was beginning to recede and the dawn of a new season was about to shine its light upon the islands of the north. Deimos welcomed the warmth on his balcony. He felt it best to be out in the sun’s glow, lest he grow pale and hunched like those who dwelled in the dark. The Red Death looked upon his fort and town, which sat on a small island that bordered around the southern islands. The modest town of Orestead had been another trading post for Lumen supplies and merchants. That is, until his marauders conquered it a couple months back.

It had stood no chance, not against the wave of black leather armor and steel plate that bore the infamous symbol. Deimos didn’t personally take this island, but he had supervised the person who did. The chieftain looked to his left, below the balcony he stood upon. Right next to the new trainees was the young man who had more than earned Deimos’ respect. Eli the Spellcaster was currently watching over the recruits, making sure none faltered or fled. On the man’s shoulder, rested the raven that was his familiar and, by extension, his eyes.

Eli had been proving himself to be a vital asset time and time again. Being a useful diviner at first, Deimos had initially had little use for him. Yet, as of the last couple of years, Eli had more than earned his position as one of Deimos’ inner circle. The blind spellcaster was a force to be reckoned with, and Deimos was more than happy to have him by his side.

“What are you smiling about?” A voice called out. Deimos sighed and turned around. Right behind him was another from his inner circle. Ivana stood there, arms behind her back. The marauder’s differently colored eyes focused on him.

“Eli has grown,” Deimos answered simply. “I am simply proud that he has finally managed to focus on his potential.”

“Yet, you’re also disappointed?” Ivana raised an eyebrow.

“What gave it away?”

“Your words have a hint of sorrow within. Very subtle too.”

“Ha!” the chieftain guffawed. “You know me better than myself.”

“As a right hand should,” Ivana sighed.

Deimos shrugged as he looked back at Eli. “Eli can become strong. I can see how far he can go. However, that’s where the problem is.”

“That he’ll be stronger than you?”

“No. It’s the limit. He can only go so far before he hits that inevitable wall,” Deimos sighed. He knew Eli can rival powerful Wizards and possibly even those high clerics of Delphine. Yet even he knew that the young spellcaster could only go so far before his own potential yanks the chain on his abilities.

“He is only as powerful as his gifts,” Deimos muttered. There was nothing wrong about it, but even Deimos knew how far those gifts could get Eli.

“He relies too much on his talents, yes?” Ivana spoke up.

Deimos nodded. “Exactly. He is spoiled by them and relies too heavily on them. If he focused on supporting his talents instead of solely relying on them, maybe he can surpass those limits. Yet…”

“He’s not going to do that. Regardless of what you tell him,” the marauder finished.

“You know my thoughts too well, Ivana,” Deimos chuckled.

Ivana’s stoic expression faltered a little at that, the edge of her lips cracking a small smile. “Then am I right to assume that you want that meeting sooner than later?” She added.

Deimos nodded. “Get them in my hall. I shall be there soon.” With that, he waved off Ivana. As the young woman went off to fulfill her duties, Deimos only stood on the balcony that overlooked the fort and town. He turned his gaze to the port, where his three ships floated placidly. The Desroc was their most recent bounty. The prison ship was a miserable sight, its hull falling apart and its sails rotted. Yet Deimos knew it could be a mighty vessel, capable of holding a small army if need be. He needed to get his ship makers on it and restore it to its original beauty.

“Soon. Soon she shall be mighty enough to make those Lumen bastards quiver.” Deimos almost laughed at the mental image.

His plan was slowly forming into reality. Everything Deimos had worked for these last decades was soon to come to fruition.

“Ah, but patience is a virtue,” the chieftain sighed. While he could brute force his way into taking over Valenfrost, it would be a foolish move. He needed to build it all up, to prepare for the worst. He was able to quietly build his influence during the years after the Outsider Wars, slipping under everyone’s noses.

However, Yorn’s recent fall had brought Deimos into the public eye. The Lumen Kingdom had acknowledged his threat and the clans all grew afraid. After all, The Red Death had cut the head of the mighty bear. Not even the Redyr clan could match up to Halvorson’s strength. The Marauders of the North was now enemy number one, but no clan had the balls to attack outright. Still, if Deimos lashed out and conquered like an idiot, it would only prompt the Lumen Kingdom to launch another war against Valenfrost. That was a conflict Deimos wasn’t sure if he could win.

No, Deimos needed to bide his time. Build his strength. To do that, he needed to increase his influence inch by inch. Both in territory and fear. His marauders were loyal, yes, but through terror and want. Deimos was disgusted with most of them, as nearly all of them were worthless thugs taken in. Still, they were the easiest to control. He exploited their instincts, both in fear and desire. He only needed to promise them what they wanted and scare them into never leaving his side. No one dared to defy Deimos.

Still, the Red Death had to put a show anytime he went out to battle. While fear and greed worked, so did a show of strength. If a soldier sees his general rip the head off of an enemy leader, he’ll be more than convinced to stay.

“Deimos. Everyone is gathered,” Ivana called out from inside.

Deimos sighed. “Good.” The chieftain turned to the entrance of the meeting room. He shifted and fixed his armor in place as he walked. Ahead of him would be his inner circle. They were a collective of his best marauders. The most loyal ones. The ones who can actually get shit done. Like himself, they were once rejected by societies and shunned. They had all suffered before Deimos had come into their lives. Saved by his guiding hand, Deimos had given them purpose and strength. All of them were indebted to him.

Deimos could hear their muttering and talking, their whispers echoing in the hall as he walked. Once he arrived at the meeting room’s doorway, the air turned silent. The chieftain looked at the right hand of his chair. Ivana was seated there, her posture straight and eyes set on him. Ivana was one of his first marauders. Saved by Deimos when she was but a child, the young woman had pledged her life to serving as his sword and shield. The burns on the left side of her face were a grim reminder of the hel she was saved from.

To her right was none other than Eli. Also saved when he was a young boy, Eli was one of the more recent additions to this inner circle. Still, he was more loyal and trustworthy than most marauders. Deimos had taken in the spellcaster like he was one of his own. Eli was reliable and swore his loyalty the day he was saved by Deimos.

Next to the blinded spellcaster was a rough-looking man. His blond hair was long and rugged, streaks of gray visible. It was tied up into a rough knot, yet still left some bangs hanging over his sea-green eyes. Tyren Blyth was the last surviving member of the Wolf Clan. He was the brother of its Jarl, who had been long gone.

Tyren was one of the few monster tamers in Valenfrost, which had proved vital back when he was left stranded in barbarian lands. Deimos had come across the tamer when he was fighting the barbarians during the war. Tyren proved to be a useful asset then, assisting Deimos in fighting barbarians and knights alike. He, too, hated the Lumen Kingdom, possibly more than anyone.

Tyren wore the furs of monsters and beasts he himself had slain. Animalistic at times, the tamer could act civil when needed. Still, Deimos allowed Tyren to keep his two wolves with him. The animals had apparently been with Tyren since they were pups, and as such, were only loyal to him. Anyone who got too close was violently reminded of this bond.

Next in line was Bilsik. He was a whale of a man, bald and bearded. His bare torso was riddled with runic tattoos, their reach extending to his enormous arms. Deimos honestly couldn’t tell where the fat ended and the muscle began. This unit of the man weighed enough to tilt a small longship, a feat that had proved useful in naval battles. Still, Bilsik’s abilities were not in naval combat. Instead, he served as the heavy hitter. Using his weight and muscle, the large man could take scores of men. With the right armor, he could even be used as a portable cover against spells and arrows. His tattoos weren’t for show either. Bilsik enhanced himself with physical castings, proving to Deimos his true worth.

Still, this mountain of a man had to eat mounds of food constantly and drink oceans of mead, if only to keep his stature and prevent his costly castings from eating up all of his fat and muscle. Deimos had found Bilsik just before the Halvorson raid. The man had sworn loyalty to the Red Death after a duel. If it could have been called that. The chieftain had forced the large man to literally eat dirt at the end, only stopping after Bilsik called it quits.

His spot at the table was earned during the Halvorson raid, after the large man saved Deimos from what could have been a deadly thunder lance. Bilsik had absorbed the attack head on with his Carapace casting, stopping the spell dead in its tracks and nearly killing himself in the process. After the raid, Deimos had named Bilsik as one of his inner circle.

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“Would you stop eating? For once in your disgusting life,” Cecil muttered next to Bilsik. Still, despite the honor of Deimos’ recognition, Bilsik still opted to eat at the meeting table. The large man wiped the crumbs from his long beard.

“I hunger. So I must eat,” he answered simply.

“You can hunger after the meeting,” Deimos called out. “For once, Bilisk, be civil.” The Red Death sighed. Bilsik groaned, but complied. He tossed his turkey leg in Tyren’s direction. Both of the monster tamer’s wolves perked up at the food before moving to devour it.

“Good grief. Tyren, do these animals really need to be here?” Cecil called out. “Can’t you order them to get out?”

“I do not order these animals. I merely guide them,” Tyren responded. The elf furrowed his brow, but didn’t speak out. He knew better than to cause a commotion. Cecil was more or less smart about that.

Deimos looked at his left-hand man. Cecil was a blond elf, his long hair brushed back neatly behind his ears. The elf’s armor was a smooth half plate, its steel polished and its red handprint well kept. Cecil was the second most loyal man to Deimos, his thin sword enough to cut down any foe. The elf had joined Deimos’ group long before most. He was outranked by Ivana, but only barely.

Cecil was a simple swordsman, but he was a damn good one. Deimos kept him in his back pocket for whenever things got south. While it was rare for a situation to go sideways, when they did, Cecil was there to fix it. He was cold, calculating, and did anything he was asked for. He killed without qualms, followed orders to perfection, and was quick about it. Cecil was the perfect soldier, yet Deimos couldn’t help but feel as if the elf was hiding another side of himself. The way his purple eyes glinted made the chieftain question his true nature.

Still, he was loyal and kept the marauders together when need be. While he wasn’t the most sociable person, Deimos still had faith that Cecil would learn in time. All in all, these five were the most loyal ones he had in the south. Three of his inner circle were currently in the north, taking care of the fort and making sure his control was kept absolute.

“What’s this meeting about, sir?” Cecil asked as Deimos sat.

“We are to discuss the new recruits.” Deimos revealed.

“What about them?” Tyren asked.

“To properly train them for battle, I think it would be best to put them into the thick of it.”

“A raid?” Ivana asked.

“More or less.”

“Are you sure you want another raid?” Eli asked. “If another island goes dark this soon, clans will notice. If they put the pieces together, they will realize how far our reach goes.”

“I appreciate the concern, Eli, but we will not be raiding any northern islands,” Deimos explained. “Scouts have found the perfect spot near the eastern border. East of Bernis, there is a secluded island that borders the abyss.”

“Near Bernis?” Ivana narrowed her gaze. “Deimos, if we raid Redyr territory, we will be engaging in war with them. I know we can take them, but if we attract too much attention—”

“If we attract too much attention, the Lumen Kingdom will invade. I am familiar with this outcome. That is why the island we’re raiding is not of any clan’s territory.” Deimos waved off Ivana’s concerns.

“Eli, the map.”

The spellcaster before the chieftain nodded. Eli’s hands produced a sizable crystal ball, a magic tool capable of displaying images and illusions. He chanted a couple of choice words to the hypnotizing ball, causing it to shimmer and glow. Some magical sparks and waving of the hand caused it to display an illusionary screen above the table. It was the map of Valenfrost, at least the parts that Deimos and his marauders ventured out to. A full map of Valenfrost was a rare thing, since there were countless islands and icebergs alone. To map it all out would be tiresome. It was better to map out what was important.

“Show off,” Cecil muttered at the sight of the illusory map. Deimos didn’t complain about the eccentric magic. He rather liked the light show. Eli’s hands moved and shifted around the crystal ball, shifting the map to focus on the small island that Deimos had pointed out. It sat alone in the east, bordering the black sea and the abyssal ocean that laid east of Valenfrost.

“It is an orc outpost,” Deimos revealed. “It’s on a small island that doesn’t have much for show. However, it is a strategic position for us,” Deimos pointed out the other islands nearby. Aside from Bernis northwest, there were multiple specks that peppered the southern area. “These islands are uninhabited, covered only in forest and rocky mountains. We can set up small bases and outposts, growing our reach in the south.”

“It’s far out there, is it not?” Cecil pointed out. He wasn’t wrong, either. The current outpost they were at was the only one they had in the south part of Valenfrost. Yorn’s fort, which they captured a year back, was situated comfortably in the center of Valenfrost, bordering the north and south. Still, it was far from the eastern edge, making Deimos’ reach strained as he pushed towards it. Part of his plans require that he take over the east and south, doing so by conquering Bernis and nearby settlements.

“It’s far, yes. Not plentiful either. The south isn’t much, but its principal cities can be used as strategic points,” Deimos said. “The more we control, the better our chances are if we are plunged into a war. When we are plunged into war.” Deimos rehashed the last part of his sentence. There was no doubt that tensions were high. Valenfrost was falling apart and the Lumen Kingdom was making moves in the north. Conflict was a guarantee. Deimos knew he needed to prepare for it. His marauders were growing by the hundreds, sure, but his territory was still small. Expanding his reach and increasing his sphere of influence was vital for survival and victory.

“I don’t like this,” Tyren muttered. “We’re stretching ourselves thin if we pursue this.”

“That is why we will first establish an outpost that is well isolated. When our numbers grow enough, we shall use this outpost as a staging ground for our conquest. Eli here can inscribe gate runes,” Deimos gestured to the young spellcaster. Eli was talented in the way that he could inscribe runes of gates. A rare ability, even among Wizards. However, the young man could only hold four gates at a time, meaning that his reach was limited. Still, it was enough for Deimos.

“It is still unwise to keep our forces so sparse across the south.” The monster tamer leaned into the table. “Are you sure this is the right move?” Tyren’s words carried a sense of doubt and uneasiness.

Ivana even leaned forward. “Are you questioning him?”

Deimos could catch the venom that was laced in between those simple words. Tyren turned to the right hand.

“Are you defending this?” He asked with an equal amount of vile in his own speech.

“Enough,” Deimos boomed. His voice was enough to stiffen the entire room. Even Ivana was still. “Ivana, stand down. This is a civil matter, not a violent one,” the Red Death muttered. Ivana tensed up at the order but did as asked. Deimos sighed. “Tyren, I can see your doubts about this course of action. Hel, I can even agree with you to some extent. But believe me when I say that this will benefit us. Perhaps you do not see it, but our presence in the south is vital.”

Tyren looked down at his hands. “I just think–”

“Have faith in me, Tyren.” Deimos smiled at the blond man. The monster tamer visibly tensed up at the chieftain’s gaze.

“I will.”

“Good man!” The chieftain chuckled. “Now then, are we in agreement?” Deimos looked to the rest of his men.

“Yes, sir.”

“Of course.”

“Yes.”

“We are.”

They all sounded out one by one.

Deimos nodded and sighed. “Good. Ivana and Eli, you all will prepare our journey for the target. We will set sail as soon as the recruits are ready. Everyone else is dismissed.” He waved his hand. The room was filled with the sound of chairs scraping and feet clattering. As everyone left, Deimos raised a hand.

“Tyren. You stay.”

The blond man stopped dead in his tracks. His two wolves curiously raised their heads at their master. Even without a clear look on his face, the chieftain could imagine what Tyren was currently feeling. There was silence as everyone left, their gazes fixed and their feet quick. In only a few seconds, there was no one left in that room other than Tyren and Deimos.

The Red Death slowly walked up to Tyren, who was slowly turning around to meet him. “Yes, sir?” Tyren asked. Deimos rested a hand on the man’s shoulder, the slight act enough to make the monster tamer tense up. His wolves uttered a low growl, yet didn’t dare strike at the man who wore the bear cloak.

“A good leader should always listen to his subordinates,” Deimos said. “It’s important, vital even. That is one reason why I keep you here.” Deimos forced a smile onto his lips, the act only confusing Tyren even more. “However…” The chieftain moved his thumb into the crook of Tyren’s neck. “Don’t you ever forget your place,” he muttered in a whisper. Tyren only nodded. “Help Ivana with whatever she needs.” Deimos patted Tyren’s shoulder, prompting him to leave the room in a hurry.

Deimos now stood alone in the meeting room, his eyes set on the table. Tyren had every right to protest Deimos’ plan, but the chieftain needed to set an example to the monster tamer. The Blyth survivor was a man who was not accustomed to the marauder lifestyle. He had only joined to keep his wolves safe and fed. After that, he only stayed with Deimos out of loyalty to the contract he signed all those years back.

Deimos had a smidge of sympathy for the man, as he had suffered a cursed fate. Taken in as a slave to the very kingdom that wiped his people, Tyren had fought and killed for a clan that was no longer around. He was stranded in the badlands south of Azurvale and Valenfrost for years until he came across Deimos’ marauders. Ever since then, Tyren had been loyal to the cause and had supported Deimos most of the time. Still, there were always rising tensions, as was seen recently.

Even if he was in every right to be skeptical, Deimos had no grounds to tell him the real reason they were invading the south. The Red Death had his eyes on one significant prize, one that would require him to play it smartly and avoid word getting out. It was the only thing in the south that was remotely valuable to him.

Deimos wanted Vindis, the floating city. The settlement was owned by a multitude of clans. While other major cities worked as a democracy under one clan, Vindis’ control was a mess of things. Attacking it would mean invoking the wrath of Redyr, Olafson, and the other clans. While Deimos could confidently win one on one with each of those clans, he could not risk an army of longships coming in aid of the floating city during an invasion.

Vindis had a specialized alarm system, one that relied heavily on the totems that connected the city to the ley lines at the bottom of the sea. It would signal the four clans that owned the city, alerting them of any attack. Any and all outposts nearby the city could then attack at once, making it clear suicide to invade and conquer the city alone.

Yet Deimos had confidence he could take it over. After the invasion of the Halvorson fort, Deimos now knew of his marauders’ capabilities. Especially Eli’s. There was no doubt in his mind that the young spellcaster would turn the tide in any battle, as long as he was used properly. Vindis was going to be no exception.

‘Come Midsommar, and I shall be able to take that floating city of filth.’