The land of Vertex and all its inhabitants lived in an era shrouded in darkness and death, a time of a great loss of life, a war to leave a wound so deep within the people that even four millenia later, stories of Xyraena’s Conquest echo throughout folklore. Children are told of the horrors as a way to scare them into behaving well, entire armies are taught about it, learning of the vile, repulsive tactics used by the generals and commanders involved in the conflict. The world is dying, entire cultures wiped out, famine and disease run rampant across the globe and the smell of rotten corpses fills the fields at which titanic clashes took place.

Deep within the Volcanic Wall of Fire, a man began to ponder the reason for such violence, why what started as a war to reclaim what was once theirs has turned into a swirling typhoon of horror. Thaton Rogulus sat by the fire, accompanied by a few of his Bloodhound Shieldbrothers. The encampment was quiet at this time of night, with only the night’s watch and members of the Logisticus scurrying around, working their share. But the Bloodhounds were different, they were human mercenaries, hired by Xerra Virroth to be a scouting company, sent ahead of battle, setting fire to enemy camps, plunging towns into chaos before the main force’s arrival, sometimes kidnapping people and torturing them for information.

The group happily sang songs, shared stories of their victories against the “Efi scum”, completely enamored by the Volcanics' tall tales of land long lost to them, tales of blood debts and betrayals. Thaton however, was a pragmatic man, while not the smartest or the strongest, he tended to look at things from the perspective of a simple man. A saying of his became popular amongst the more openly opposed to the war, “The common man will laugh and smile when you tell him to, if the sword you have is pointed at him.”. Through the years of his service, the growing popularity of him has caused eyes from above to look and take notice. While some touted him a war hero, a man to write songs and poems about, others thought he’s too popular for his own good.

As his Shieldbrothers drank booze and sang tall tales of their heroism, Thaton quietly sat there, sipping down his mead moderately, scribbling away in his journal. That was his outlet, his way of saying no to what he thought unjust, the pieces of parchment, wrapped in leather served him well. “I Thaton Rogulus, declare my rules of war…” he wrote, writing unfamiliar words while trying to capture the essence of his message, only to rip them out and start over. “War brings only death…”, he tried again. Thaton scratched his head, contorting his face to relax it. With a sharp and quiet gasp it came to him. The people don’t want a grandiose and elaborate speech, they want the truth.

And so he scribbled, for the next few hours. Writing about what he saw, what he did. A tale from a Man of War, death incarnate, breaking down doors, taking children from their mothers, only to slit their throats. Murdered fathers and sons on the battlefield. But it was all in servitude to the Matriarch, she is to blame for his crimes. He knew this isn’t true, the demons of his past deeds gripping him by the collar, hundreds of hands, trying to rip his head off every time he goes to sleep.

- “Bloodhounds! Grandmistress Xerra has work for you dogs.” - A “woman” clad in ashen-gray full plate approaches, her cape painted pure white with gold and blue accents on it, with the head of Xyraena herself embroidered on it steps into the light of our little campfire. - “She wants you to move ahead and intercept a Sledcart containing war supplies for the Efi trash.” - Ru’ushia throws a wax sealed scroll to Thaton’s feet storming off, her red hair shimmering from the fire, tied in a neat bun. She was never a big fan of him, or his people, she was frankly disgusted by anything that wasn’t Volcanic, thinking of everything else as lesser, weaker. Everyone is part of the Wall of Fire here, one big stretched out army, marching north and she couldn’t bring herself to agree that they needed anything but their own skill in combat.

The mission for the Bloodhounds was simple, find the cart, destroy it, come back to rest. Another reconnaissance company spotted along the Sledway a cart, moving armaments, siege engines and soldiers. While trying to intercept it, nearly the entire company was wiped out, but those that escaped were able to retread and report on their findings. Xerra thought about sending a new detachment of her own troops, but Ru’ushia offered the possibility of dispatching the Bloodhound Shieldbrothers instead. A short argument took place, Xerra wanting to send Volcanic troops, as that would be a show of force, while Ru’ushia argued the opposite, that sending their main force would make them look weak. In the end, Xerra agreed to sending the Bloodhounds, much to Ru’ushia’s delight.

After gathering their things, planning out a way of intercepting the Sledcart, Thaton and his men moved out into the dark of the night. Their setup was simple, two Bloodhounds capable of Wave would set up in the brushes near the tracks. While the rest of the unit waited in the shadows. Thaton, adorned in his crimson-red armor, trimmed with pure gold and a large black and gold fath, a long tippet like cloth attached on both sides of the right pauldron, wrapping under the left arm, waited patiently, focused entirely on the task at hand and waiting for his brothers by the tracks to spring their trap.

An hour passes, then another two. Finally, like fluttering wings the sounds of sails from the Sledcart can be heard. Within minutes, the trap is sprung and Thaton leads the Bloodhounds into battle, cleaving through the Efi guarding the transport, one after another. The small group of fifty under Thaton’s command, sooner rather than later took the entire Sledcart, killing some while keeping others alive for interrogation later. He ordered his men to prepare their leave, at the same time, something compelled him to search through, hoping to find something or to not find someone. With a torch in hand Thaton made his way through one cart, then the next, walking by weapons and armor painted green and gold, grain and simple clothes for the common people. 

Thaton stopped in one of the carts. Something caught his attention, a distinct noise he heard many times throughout this conflict. The sound of fear, the fight or flight response kicking in, he slowly and carefully looked around, dragging his sunken eyes on each nook and cranny of the cart he’s in. “Do not make a noise…” he thought to himself, while his armor clattered about. Behind him! He turned around again, now staring at a large wooden chest, he’s sure of it now. Thaton reached out and opened the lid, revealing a group of four children, stowaways. Their features are distinctly human, no golden or crimson hair, no green or red eyes, just plain brown hair on each of them… “Why did you make a noise…” he muttered to himself, pulling them out of the chest, one by one, “...burning would’ve been better than this.” he continued.

Upon hearing their commander make a ruckus inside of the cart, a couple of the Bloodhounds came to check what’s going on. They smiled, like famished dogs ready for their meals upon seeing the kids. Dirty, skin on bones, sunken cheeks and eyelids unable to hold themselves up anymore. The unit rounded up the kids, tying their arms and legs together and with a quick crack of a whip, we began moving back, leaving the Sledcart torched, burning to the ground.

The unit came back victorious! “We won, as usual!” one proclaimed while the others laughed, the children were led off by some Volcanic guards, never to be seen again. Thaton left his celebration behind at this point, focused on the next task at hand and reporting to Xerra herself, as his contract demands. Unlike humans, Volcanics are bred for war. Trained from birth in the arts of killing, slitting throats and stabbing chests, any Volcanic that can’t do that becomes a victim of what they were supposed to do themselves, not a single weak woman in the Wall of Fire, each fiery red head more than capable of chopping your head off without so much as a blink. As Thaton walks to Xerra’s tent, the blood red eyes of most Volcanic warriors in his path eye him up and down. 

- “So, how’d it go?” - Xerra, indifferent and frank in her delivery. Her entirely result oriented approach is known to many, though she is a fan of showing force whenever possible. Thaton reported their findings on the assault site, what the general cargo was as well as the stowaway children they secured on the Sledcart. Xerra listened, while writing a letter to her mother about her recent victories. Thaton, impatient and frankly feeling a little disregarded, asked her about the children, what will happen to them, suggesting “Maybe we should let them go?”. Xerra chuckled to herself and looked him dead in the eyes. That was all he needed, with a short bow he exited the tent and went on his way, back to his Shieldbrothers.

He pulled out his journal and began scribbling away at the parchment. Noting the fate of the children, the lives they all took. It weighed on his mind, crushed his skull like an anvil, “It cannot be like this anymore…” he thought, the gentle brewings of something great began showing themselves on his face, ideas, solutions, courses of actions. Thaton was intimate with the inner workings of the Wall of Fire, he and his Shieldbrothers were stationed everywhere along it, including with Xyraena herself and her unit. The Volcanics might’ve looked down on them, but they were cunning, violent and strong even though human. He knew of certain individuals in the Bloodhounds, people he trusts, powerful people, capable of fighting. Though some loyal to Xyraena and her conquest at this point, others were much more oriented around coin… If he could offer more, they would join him, he was sure of it. These old trusty snakes never passed up a chance to thicken their pouch.

While he thought of his plans, poked them, adding spice to their design, something else was happening, deep within the Wall of Fire. A woman named August is strolling through the capital city of the Volcanics, Alma Volcanica. She synced up her meeting with a planned military parade, shifting focus from her and her companions, allowing them to meet in a larger group. August enters the sewers and begins her fifteen minute walk to the agreed location. While there are some murmurs bouncing around the walls, from the outside anyone would think “That’s just the water.”. 

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

August, entered a large cylindrical room, fifteen other people stand in a circle in the middle, a small beam of light illuminating the center through a sewage grate. The sound of splattering water can be heard echoing throughout the chamber, with Augusts steps growing slower and slower until she stands in the middle of the circle. Clad in practical but slightly elevated in status clothes, black robes, tight around her feminine torso and stretching out and flowing freely the closer to the ground it is. The whole get up is entirely smooth, no buttons, nothing, only a well hidden set of leather straps on her back, also dyed black, used to keep the entire thing on her she looks around at the faces of her personal Snakes.

- “You know I don’t enjoy being pulled from my station without a good reason.” - She begins, her tone slithering with venom. - “Spit it out.” - Her words sting, but are not violent. They have to be, every single person in this room, while loyal, would happily take her place if she as much as indicates weakness.

- “We looked into the help you told us about. He’d probably be willing, but that depends on what we’d offer him” - Tevirus steps forward and presents his findings to August and the group. He’s a young, dashing man, widely considered a womanizer, owner of many whoring establishments in Alma Volcanica. He’s not just a man of tits and money, he’s invaluable to August’s plan, his vast intelligence network, filled with blackmailing potential on nearly everybody in this nation - “That is also where the problem lies August. Nobody has any idea what he wants. This guy is apparently important to Xerra’s plans, so to keep him leashed they pay him more than we could muster even if we put our coin together.”

- “That’s it? This is all you bring me Tevirus? Anybody else has something to share?” - August looks around with her arms stretched out. These cretins pulled her out for this? 

- “No, there is one more thing. You wanted me to look into Ru’ushia as well, so I did.” - Tevirus continues with a smug, dangerous smile on his face. - “She named her price already. Didn’t take much convincing, especially since Xerra seems to actively oppose her every suggestion.” - He stretches out like a cat, grunting and panting. - “Ambition can be a real am-bitch-ion. And don’t worry August, I already paid her off.” - He chuckles and goes back into his spot in the circle. On the other side of the circle, a young woman with Golden Hair and Emerald Green eyes steps forward. Valerie Takes a deep breath and then slowly, exhales.

- “August, I don’t have time for this shit. If I get called here one more time, without anything that can help me win this damn war, I’ll paint these walls red. Do you understand?” - The water rumbles with every word she speaks. Unlike everyone else in the room, this woman is the real deal when it comes to violence. - “Do you?”

- “Of course Valerie, if I get an urgent message about possible strings and pulls for our grand plan, I must call all of you. This way nothing’s hidden.” - August replies, she’s calm, collected and ever presentable on the outside. But Valerie’s words are a knife to her throat, everyone knows it. The Efi goddess of war has a very short fuse after all. Velar storms off, her golden hair sways as she disappears into the shadows, leaving no trace of her being here. August watched as the rest of her “Friends” split and began moving out, each has their own entrance into this place, preventing us all getting caught at the same time if such a possibility shows up. Slowly but surely, the pieces will fall into place and when the time comes, August will be ready. 

The days passed by, the Bloodhounds caught their prey whenever they’ve been let off their leash and     the Wall of Fire steadily keeps scorching the earths surface. A young Volcanic runner moves rapidly through the camp, carrying a sealed scroll addressed to Thaton Rogulus himself. He reaches his tent and without a warning or announcement barges inside, only to see Thaton in the middle of indulging in pleasures of the female body with a younger woman. The runner quickly turns around and goes out of the tent, flustered with the sights that were just in front of her.

- “What is it?” - Thaton comes out of the tent with the woman. She quickly runs off while he stands shirtless in front of the runner who quickly hands the letter to him with a bow and walks away without a word. The scroll is written on a piece of cow skin, the furry outside and slick inside, marked with ink and haphazardly scraped on words. 

“

Dear Thaton,

I hope this letter finds you well.

By the end of this letter, you will have the tools you need.

Late into the hours of the night, when the guard is sparse and your Shieldbrothers sleep, you will meet with a friend. You will not go anywhere, or talk to anyone, they will come to you only if you’re alone.

After the meeting, you will have all the reason you need to act, to change the course of this war. What I’m offering you, is a nudge in the right direction.

Sincerely, 

A friend

“    

Thaton, perplexed with the letter stuffs it in his pants pocket, looking around nervously, scanning his surroundings for any faces that might be turned his way. He quickly gets himself sorted and presentable after which he sets out to talk to Darius, an old friend of his from before they became Bloodhounds. Thaton makes his way through the camp, people glance at him, some whisper things into another ear. Others nod or wave, he feels his palms become wet, a bead of sweat runs down the side of his cheek. Thaton approaches Darius from behind and gives his shoe a kick, Darius looks at him confused but Thaton only wags his finger to follow him and the two quickly step away from the Bloodhounds.

- “What is it?” - Darius rests his hand on Thaton’s shoulder, it’s rare to see these two stand next to each other, let alone talk. - “Spit it out.” - He continues and lightly slaps Thaton cheeks. Thaton takes a quick look around, once again, noticing all the looks and stares. Are they talking about him? Is his plan out in the open now? What should he do? If he tells Darius everything straight, will he spill the information over to Xerra? Or will he play into it and help? If there’s an ounce of possibility that he’s somehow involved…

- “Just wanted to catch up with an old… Friend.” - Thaton pulls Darius’s hand off his cheek and starts walking, Darius snorts and spits on the ground. They both start making it through the watchful camp. - “We’ve been friends for a long time, thought I’d catch up after weeks apart.” - Says Thaton with an elbow to Darius’s side and a loud, nervous laugh. There’s a moment of unbearable silence as they make some distance from the Bloodhounds. Darius glances at Thaton, his eyebrow slightly raised, assessing his companions state. Thaton keeps his gaze away. 

- “Well, my unit recently had to clear out a town.” - Darius looks over his shoulder for a second. “They have known each other for years” Thaton thinks to himself. Darius then looks back at Thaton and puts his arms behind his head. - “Just before setting camp here actually. Slaughtered a bunch of Efi like pigs.” - Darius gives his account of the past few days. Thaton glances over at him and chuckles, Darius responds with his own short laugh. Another moment of silence between these two. They take a left turn at the main main crossing of the camp, following behind a cart filled with burnt corpses. - “What about you brother? Any good… hunts recently?” - Darius then kicks the cart - “Poor things.” - The bodies wobble on the wooden cart.

- “Took out a Sledcart. Had a few stowaways in it too.” - Thaton kicks a dangling hand back onto the cart and sighs. - “Human kids, not sure what happened to them.” - He glances at Darius, their eyes meet for a split second with raised eyebrows. Darius then looks over his shoulder and spits, Thaton wipes his forehead. - “Can’t talk to anyone about them.” - He finishes and cracks his knuckles.

- “To the ginger fucks? Not a chance.” - Darius tilts his head and leans over to the cart a little, examining the bodies. - “And the Bloodhounds would think your prick’s small for worrying about some fucking kids.” - He looks back at Thaton. - “If we paid honor to every person we killed, we’d lose our damn minds.”

- “So we go and kill without thinking too much about it.” - Thaton interrupts Darius and knocks on his pauldron. - “It’d be hard to deal with this without the coin incentive, yeah?” - Thaton prods his friend who turns around and stops for a second with a chuckle. - “It’d be hard without a friend, right?” - Darius retorts. The two men share a look, it’s a short moment between them after which they continue walking in the direction the cart went.

- “The other Bloodhounds, they see red all the time? Like mine?” - Darius speaks and starts fidgeting around with his coin pouch, bumping it around, sticking his hand in and sifting through the coin. - “Do you see red all the time?” - The men glance at one another and smirk. 

- “It’d be hard not to, Darius. They point, we go, right?” - Thaton spits in front of him and wipes his forehead off once more, he then takes a look around, scanning the Volcanic forces. Darius nods in response and stretches out. - “Right Thaton. It was a good talk, old friend. You should visit my tent tonight, once there are no guards around. We’d talk bullshit and sip wine. Like the old days.” - Darius extends his hand out for a handshake to Thaton, the two grip each others hands firmly, watching their faces carefully while holding their hands together for a moment. 

Darius walks off to his group, while Thaton watches, lingering around like a hollow thought. What if’s and maybe’s draw themselves across the inside of his skull. Thaton has questions for Darius, ones that can’t be asked with everyone watching but even then, should he? If there’s an ounce of loyalty to Xyraena within Darius, it all falls apart. He makes his own way back, watching over his shoulder, noting every glance he gets, every whisper when his presence is noted. 

Upon entering the tent, Thaton pulls out the letter and his journal, he begins furiously scraping letters of apology to his sister, where all of his money is supposed to go. Will after Will, going through all the possible outcomes but never writing the perfect one. Thaton, furious at his inability to act, at the fact that he could’ve stopped so much tragedy and sorrow from coming to greet so many people throws his journal along with the letter on the ground, stomping on both with his boot. - “Fuck it all!” - He kicks the journal and letter under his bed, running his hands along his head, taking deep breaths. It doesn’t take long for a couple of Bloodhounds to run over and peek inside the tent. 

- “Sir?!” - The two Bloodhounds look at the furious Thaton and stand at attention. He turns to them glaring. - “Did anyone call for you?” - Thaton’s words sting, laced with disgust. The image of his failure is standing in front of him and he’s unable to do anything about it… - “Prepare your gear, every sword, spear and shield polished. Now!” - The two Bloodhounds slam their chests and run out of the tent.