Open Chronicles An Open Hand

[Dianaimh Ui Muirgheal]

Toirbheartan, Northlands, Southwest of Gulf of Ryt.


Toirbheartan had started life as a defensive settlement. The town that had expanded around it was more accidental than intended. The walls had been pushed out to accommodate them but there was still a scattering of lean-tos and huts beyond the protection of the ramparts. Some attempts at discipline had been made to keep them from swamping the town but the recent influx of refugees had just made it worse.

Most were fleeing westward, seeking to escape the recent violence on the frontier. There'd been fighting all along the river and beyond. Axe and torch had plied up and down its banks while numerous smaller settlements and homes lay in ash. Molthal's grip was tightening west of the Spine but the advance had been clumsy and ill-managed. Scouts had reported fighting between what they'd assumed to be the same side. Skirmishers had set out to ambush convoys only to find someone else had hit it first.

For now there was a strange quiet, both sides licking their wounds while nervous settlers and frontiersmen braced themselves for the storm to come. Mad Dog's had fallen in a single night of bloody fighting and for now, no one risked heading east of the river. Foresters and rangers would only venture to its banks, the ground between Toirbheartan and the river now the site of occasional vicious skirmishing and ambuscades.

The gates were kept under heavy guard. The town was sympathetic to the plight of the refugees but not enough to endanger their stores. Charity began at home. Traffic was restricted and the gates shut at sundown. Token offerings were made to ease their suffering but few were let inside. They'd heard enough tales of saboteurs and spies from other settlements. More worrying still were the rumours of overtures and darker pacts.

Few noticed the rider at first when she left the treeline. Hooded, she was of little consequence. The figures with her drew attention though, murmurs growing as refugees pointed and whispered.

Naghi


OOC Thread: https://chroniclesrp.net/threads/an-open-hand.1504/

 

[Naghi]

Naghi rode no steed.

There had been attempts in his youth, but his size and the stride of his legs was far beyond what any normal mount could keep up with. So while his companions road upon their great horses he simply walked besides them.

His boots crashed into the earth, every step shaking the ground slightly as he moved alongside the road.

There were only three of them. Naghi himself, the necromancer, and a single mercenary that he had plucked from the ranks. They were his honor guard, all that he needed.

It was of course not them that drew the eyes of the refugee, but the half-giant himself. Gazes and whispers piled atop him like clouds on the mountains. A sea of people parted before them, no one daring to step in their way as his party slowly made their way towards the Town Gates.

There the two Guardsmen quivered, each of them pulling their spears forward in a pathetic attempt to guard against him. Naghi stared down at the figures, then spoke. "I come to speak to your Governor."

His voice was a low rumble, a thousand boulders falling from the cliffs.

"Step aside." His gaze fell upon the left guard expectantly.

There was no threat save for that of his presence.

 

[Smiling One]

Ah the Spine beautiful to look at but upon closer inspection it's full Monsters, hostile tribesmen and harsh winter snows. Still it was beautiful to explore, Willis Reede sighed as he traveled on the rocky road holding clinging on to his brown overcoat. After taking a long break in the Gilded Vale: One of the many Monster Hunter safehouses located all over Arethril the young man received a tip from the leader of the Gilded Vale a Ravenfolk named: Gea about possible Monster Hunter contracts Southwest of the Gulf of Ryt.

Willis groaned, that was a two week walk on the best of days but he needed the coin badly and besides he has yet to explore that part of the Spine. After collecting supplies and loading up on weapons, grenades and potions the young man set off on the long and arduous journey. Willis was careful to stay on the roads on the advice of Gea. The young man smirked thinking about him, Gea was a longtime Monster Hunter but was forced into retirement when he lost hand fighting a Leshen 30 years ago. Now he operates the Gilded Vale organized and tidy for weary and hungry Monster Hunters to rest and reload.

The Ravenfolk is a wise but eccentric person who has an elegant way of cursing. So far the path was paying off since the forests is full of Owlbears and Griffins along with Cyclops though they weren't common around these parts of the spine. After a long two weeks, Willis arrived at the city gates where the guards were conversing with a man who towered over them. Willis frowned slowly placing his gloved hands on the hilt of his Cutlass. "Looks like a half-giant," he said. "Is that guy I should kill?"

Half-Giants were a somewhat rare species, Giants are fiercely territorial and find breeding with other species despicable. It was only rarely where Giants will occasionally interbreed with other species however it was dangerous as the mothers of Giantkind have a high mortality rate in childbirth. Half-Giants are towering people though not as tall as regular Giants. They still have nasty temperaments and are extremely strong and durable. Willis read that some Half-Giants inheritied the Giants strong stomachs enabling them to eat anything.

"Excuse me," Willis said wondering if it was wise to further upset a Half-Giant. "Are there any contracts available for this Monster Hunter?"

 

[Dianaimh Ui Muirgheal]

Dianaimh kept her horse at the walk, the half-giant easily keeping pace with her. She kept a firm grip on the reins in case an exit was needed but the refugees seemed awed by their presence. The crowd parted in front of them, nowhere daring to get in their way.

She found it hard to hide a smirk as she sensed the guards' fear. She had a commanding position on her mount but it was the half-giant they had their attention on. Their decision was a matter of a second, stepping to the side so the way was clear. Their weapons looked flimsy next to a scion of Menalus.

A third didn't though. Not in the livery of the town, he dared to speak. Dianaimh was appalled. "Watch your tongue dog. You speak to an embassy of Molthal".

 

[Naghi]

Naghi glanced at the man who had spoken, his expression remaining even until he slowly turned back towards the guard.

"Step aside." The words were echoed once more, and this time both of the City Watchmen listened. Each of them seemed to shake slightly, either unwilling to face the consequence of disobedience or simply too flabbergasted to act in any other way.

The half-giant gave no further credence to the other man.

This place would burn soon if the Governor did not surrender it's keys. Blight Orcs would slaughter these refugees, mercenaries would pillage the houses, and everything else would be put to the torch. Within a months these lands would be part of the Blight.

That was why he was here.

To bring the will of his father to the west and beyond.

"Do not concern yourself." Naghi said to the Witch, his gaze falling on her for a brief moment before he began walking through the gate. "This wretch and all like him will soon be hung from the walls."

With those words spoken Naghi stepped into the walled town of Toirbheartan, heading directly towards the Governors mansion.

 

[Smiling One]

The guards weren't budging a bold move considering that the Half Giant grew angrier by the second. One of the first things that Willis was taught as a Monster Hunter was to never piss off any Giant types. Their anger and rage has known to destroy villages in a couple of seconds. The Half-Giant's voice sounded deep and gravely like stone grinding against another stone. Willis' muscles stiffened from the Half-Giant's words and stepped aside from him, he's killed Giants before but that was because he was getting paid a lot of coin as a Monster Hunter. Willis was crazy but he wasn't stupid to be in the way of a Half-Giant.

"Well that was fun," Willis said cheerily watching the Half Giant enter the city. "At least you lot have some brains after all."

A woman also came besides Willis riding a Horse, her face was somewhat covered by her hood but the young man could see her beautiful face inside it. Willis smirked as his muscles loosened his entire body began to heat enabling him to have full range of motion in his body something he struggled to do when spending a fortnight walking in this damn cold. "You should also listen to this pretty woman as well," he advised. "She looks dangerous as she is beautiful."

The City Watch glared at the two of them. "You're not to pass," the guard on the left said.

Willis chuckled as he examined the guard from head to toe. He was an Elf gaunt face pale skin, looked a bit underfed. Guardsmen in cities don't tend to get paid a lot of coin and they don't even receive benefits either. Willis remembered seeing riots by the city guard in Elbion and Alliria because of that, It was also a major why they can be easily bribed.

"Hey buddy," Willis said taking out his coin pouch from his front pocket. "It's been a long winter. Oh wait it's actually summer is it?"

The Elf knitted his eyebrows at Willis beginning to lower his spear. "I've heard they call this area the Land of Always Winter," Willis said. "And it seems that you guardsmen get treated like shit, it's a shame really. There's plenty snow monsters that lurk around like: Yetis, Frost Salamanders, Abominable Snowmen and even Frost Giants. You're underappreciated in what you do."

The guardsmen looked at each other uneasy as Willis handed out two gold coins. "You should relax a bit," he said. "This lovely goddess on her Horse and myself aren't monsters hell It's my job to rid the innocent from monsters. Just ease up a bit and buy yourselves some Hot Chocolate."

The guardsmen nodded allowing Willis and the witch to pass through. "Hey there beautiful," he said. "Names Willis and you are?"

 

[Dianaimh Ui Muirgheal]

Dianaimh spurred her horse to follow Naghi, their bodyguard keeping pace. "Do not touch my horse swineherd" she warned the impudent young man. Her tone would have froze others. She would have ordered her guard or Naghi to strike him down but they weren't here to start a war. They had to give the town a chance to bend the knee first. Her escort kept his hand on his sword, eyes hard as they studied the monster hunter.

Scowling, Dianaimh did her best to take in her surroundings, taking the chance to study what she could. It was preparing for war but the efforts seemed haphazard, uncoordinated. She was no soldier but she picked up enough of warlore in her time with them to note basic details.

Toirbheartan's buildings were stoutly built with thick walls, small windows, and odd platforms that seemed out of place amidst the otherwise steep roofs to cope with the regular rain. It took her a moment to click. Archery platforms. It made more sense as they got further into the town. Winding streets, rarely more than a bowshot in length.

The keep dominated the skyline, a towering structure atop a small crag though it was puny compared to those she'd seen in greater cities like Vel Anir or Alliria. Still, by this provincial backwater's standards, it was a fortress.

 

[Naghi]

Naghi did not fail to spy any of the defenses that the necromancer saw. His eyes bounced slowly between the buildings and they're oddly sloped roofs. Nor did he miss the meaning of the winding roads and tight corners that seemed to mark the inner city.

No concern showed on his face of course, why would it? This village would capitulate or burn all the same. It did not matter if he lost a hundred Blight Orcs or a thousand. It would all belong to Molthal within a weeks time. He was entirely sure of that.

As they walked he noticed something.

A shadow lurking in the alleyways behind them, a small figure that seemed to move in tandem with their steps. Nipping at their heels like some sort of rat dog. He frowned, his voice setting a low rumble. "A spy."

Naghi stated to the necromancer as they approached the Keep.

There was nothing they could do about the figure now, but once they spoke to the governor they could act. Slowly the Half-giant lumbered up to the gate of the Keep, the two guardsmen standing ahead of the portculus craning their necks as they attempted to meet his fiery gaze.

"A herald of Molthal has come. Alert your Governor, or see heads roll." Silence dragged on, but after a moment fear took the guard to the right and he called to open the gate and alert the Governor.

 

[Notarius]

Toirbheartan was established between the western-most arm of the Spine and the west bank of a rushing river that meandered from Crobhear Lake. The first settlers had come to call the river Dwaren after many years of trading with the Dwarven strongholds that dotted the valley. The Dwarves would use the Dwaren to travel to Toirbheartan, trade, and then return. They were always friendly faces in this unforgiving wilderness.

Toirbheartan had gradually built itself into a small beacon of human civilization. Earlier generations had profited off of the abundant furs, timber, and game that filled the valley. Eventually the discovery of nearby ore and salt mines caused a rush. Newcomers poured over the mountains from the west and Toirbheartan swelled thrice in size. As is the course of progression, these newcomers pushed past the Dwaren and found new settlements- though Toirbheartan remained principle and all returned to trade. Things were good in those days.

But times have changed.

Its been nearly twenty years since the Dwarves were last seen. After the first winter, when no Dwarves had come before the bitter cold, Toirbheartan sent out scouts to investigate; all returned with ill tidings.

The Dwarven strongholds were desolate. Each one had shown signs of resistance- their warriors were clad in armor, weapons were in hand, gates were reinforced- but their efforts were futile. The inhabitants had been reduced to shriveled husks, a shadow of their former selves. The imperious walls that protected each settlement, wrought of steel and crafted in the Dwarvish fashion, were found smoldering in places- more akin to a melted candle than anything else. And from the ramparts of each stronghold's main hall hung the same banner: a string of alien symbols in molten red upon a field of obsidian.

The news was deafening. Toirbheartan's presiding Governor told the members of his council to keep quiet. Rumors leaked but they were quickly dismissed. Business would carry on as usual, demanded the Governor.

****

Rollin Primewater sat in his high-backed wooden chair. The Governor wore fine-cut clothes and a heavy metal breastplate. Beaver fur lined his collar, gem-encrusted rings adorned his fingers, and his dark green tabard was embroidered with the sigil of his house. It was clear that the Governor looked out of place. The breastplate was more for pageantry than for battle, a vestige to the days when Toirbheartan’s leaders were hardy men who came to tame these lands. Rollin was the son of successful merchants, an esteemed member of Toirbheartan's oligarchy- not a warrior.

That day's weather spared no sunlight through the chamber's stain glass windows. A fireplace to Primewater's left was the only source of warmth here. It had been barely five winters since Rollin assumed the title of Governor. When his reign began he had sought to ignore the signs. Ravens from his scouts had eventually ceased, more refugees began crossing the Dwaren each month, rumors had become news- and now, they requested him.

Governor Primewater tried his best to sit tall in his seat. He looked at the guard before him, a boy of perhaps twenty, and said in his most stern voice, "I am ready for them."

 

[Ornis]

The men around the walls were chattering in the wake of the envoy. Guardsmen were cursing one another for cowardice and ignoring their own. "Besides, what are three going to do from within the walls? It's just a diplomacy meeting." No one seemed to have anything to add after that. They felt that if they were JUST quiet enough, they could perhaps hear a ring of steel or a cry for help. They waited in unease.

A raven sat upon a tie rod above them, peering down past the inner bailey and into the keep. The corvid, along with its kin, had come to follow the band of warriors to the east. Some of the smarter ones had gone ahead, like this one, to get the first pickings. Meanwhile, the wind blew leaves across the ground and swirled small cyclones in corners. Birds were calling to each other. It was the only sound following the arrival of the envoy. Flittering wind in feather and green.

The raven joined with its own call and flapped its way inside. The innards of the city were a serpentine gullet. One of the buildings had a wind vane that spun lazily, the cock that had once adorned it rusted off. The raven stood on the remains of its feet, cawing into the crisp air. It had seen cousins in beelines between encampments in the past. Quickly noted were the arrows that shot through the ones holding messages. Those birds were best avoided. With good reason too they were no more. Meddling with men for the sake of food was folly. The sky here was welcoming: clear of outsiders taking up all the airspace. Grackles and simple crows gathered here and there on balconies and steeples, but they kept well below the height of the walls.

The exception, of course, was a rookery that had formed in the central tower. The ravens there croaked and grunted to one another, stretching their wings in the sun and awaiting the verdict of this meeting. Wherever men were met, bloodshed soon followed. This had become a fundamental truth to the birds who had grown quite large by feasting on the spoils of ruin.

 

[Jason Chronicles]

Near the fireplace stood an orc, broad of shoulder and thick of thew. Bone fetishes protruded from his ears and nose. He wore only a pair of rough deerskin trousers. A long knife sat sheathed on one hip, an axe through a belt loop on the other.

Just yesterday he’d killed a large stag, putting food on the keep’s table and earning the favor of Primewater in the process. Besides, when meeting servants of Molthal one did well to have warriors on hand.

 

[Heike Eisen]

Heike carried the girl's body across the expanse of the Reach and the Spine until she came to the girl's home village. It lay in ruin, her village. Sacked and burned, anything of value taken.

Heike did not know where the bodies of the girl's mother and father rested.

But she buried the girl in her home village all the same.

And she moved on. A new promise to keep.

* * * * *​

A solitary cabin in the mountains, hidden away among the yellow aspen trees. Heike could see it clearly in the dark of the night. Carefully she worked the door open. Stepped inside. The dwindling fire in the fireplace, that hint of warmth. She saw the old man sleeping on the bed, his back to her. All was quiet. She approached.

"I heard you come in," the old man said, rolling over. He looked right at her in the meager orange light.

Heike stopped. She shouldn't have stopped but she stopped anyway. She should just feed and apologize and be done with it, be on her way.

The old man slowly swung his legs out from under his blanket and over the side of the bed and sat up. His voice calm. Level. Almost patient. "So. Have you come to rob me?"

"No." Again, she knew not why she didn't simply get on with it. Maybe. Maybe it was the sound of another voice. The arresting presence of another human being, someone who could hear her. Speak to her.

"Hm. You would have been disappointed. I've not much of anything. I live off the land here."

Heike didn't say anything. Stood watching him.

The old man regarded her. "You have strange eyes."

"So I've been told."

"And you've been told again." He made a circular motion with his finger around his mouth. "Why do you wear that mask?"

"You seem very calm for someone who has an unwelcome guest in their home."

The old man shrugged. "There've been many people who've passed through here. I've come to view this small cabin less and less as solely my own as the years went on."

"You've been here a long time."

"Oh yes. Not long enough, I'd say. This is the life I enjoy; I needed only to find it. I was once a guardsman, in a land not far from here." He shook his head. "Those lands east of The Spine were not made for men."

"Because of the orcs."

"Some orcs, yes. The ones further north, in the Blightlands, are of a different sort."

"I'm counting on it."

The old man studied her. Spoke after a moment. "What an odd thing for anyone to say."

Heike said nothing. Her claws flexing idly at her sides.

The old man eyed her claws with a curious sort of acceptance. As if he did not mind whatever fate had in store for him this night. And he asked her again, "Why do you wear that mask?"

Heike didn't want to say it. She loathed saying it aloud. So she reached up and pulled down her mask. Showed her teeth. The twin fangs. Somehow it felt less shameful than speaking the word.

The old man just looked at them. Said, "I didn't think such a thing was real."

"I wish that you were right."

"What were you? Before?"

Heike closed her eyes. Stood there for a time. A small, unnecessary breath, that trace of the past. A clawed finger touched briefly the dangling insignia of the Golden Blade on her belt. She opened her eyes then and said, "A knight."

"A knight. What was your proper address?"

"What is my proper address."

"Yes. I apologize. What is your proper address?"

"Herr Heike Eisen, Knight-Valiant of Reikhurst."

"Herr Heike." The old man considered it. "Not Sir?"

"Not Sir. Our Order had its differences from others."

The old man nodded. "And what are you doing up this way, Herr Heike?"

The fire sputtered in the fireplace. Dancing shadows along the interior of the cabin. Heike said, "I've come to keep true to my word."

"Your word?"

"Yes. My word."

"And who did you give your word to?"

"A girl who was murdered."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Heike looked at him. She closed her eyes and shook her head gently and pursed her lips and looked at him again. Said, "It's all I know how to do."

"You mean to avenge her."

"Yes."

"Is this course right and noble? Is it just? Will it somehow help this poor girl's spirit?"

"It doesn't matter," Heike said, her voice low and steadfast. "I gave my word."

The old man cast the cautionary look of a father upon her. "It was never my lot in life to truly know the searing grasp of rage. Mine, the gods deemed, merely to bear witness, to carry on the stories of others. There when I was a guardsman and here now in my cabin, I have seen good men and women succumb to a consuming passion whose hunger is endless, tragedy spurring further tragedy. If you give in, Herr Heike, I assure you that it will not stop. Not until you join that little girl."

Heike peered down at him. "It has already been decided, and I am bound."

Silence.

And the old man said, "Alright." He turned his head and exposed his neck to her and said, "Do what you must do then. I pray only that I will not add you to my collection of woeful stories."

Heike approached. Sat down on the bed next to him. Looked down at her shoes for a long moment. And she said, "I'm sorry. Forgive me."

* * * * *​

The old man told her of a town not too far from his cabin after she fed. It had taken some pressing, but he relented. A town named Toirbheartan, near the Gulf. A small group of refugees had come from there and found his cabin and relayed their stories to him.

The town was threatened, under a siege of intimidation. Blight Orcs. Orcs of the most vicious and cruel kind. The kind who might sack and destroy a small mining village. The kind who might attack and slaughter a caravan consisting of mostly civilians. The kind who might kill the girl Heike had carried, the girl she had promised to keep safe.

The kind of orcs who were guilty by their very nature.

So Heike journeyed down from the mountains and headed north. Walked night and day without sleep, keeping the hood of her coat up and her shawl draped from her shoulders to her waist and her claws hidden inside.

She was perhaps a day's time out from Toirbheartan.

And she would wait for nightfall to scale the walls. She would stay within the confines of the town and keep to herself and avoid eye contact and stick to the shadows during the day and feed only when the thirst necessitated it at night.

She would do this.

Because she would wait patiently for the Blight Orcs. This, the fulfillment of her new promise.

 

[Dianaimh Ui Muirgheal]

Dianaimh stepped in first, her smaller frame underwhelming in comparison to what the governor had expected to face. The heavy tramping of Naghi's footsteps came after her. The witch took off her hood, grateful to be in from the cold. Piercing eyes scanned the room and she took a few more steps forward.

She cleared her throat with a delicate cough. "I come as an emissary from Molthal" she announced, in a melodic contralto. She let that settle the murmur in the room. "Toirbheartan should feel honoured to host Naghi, scion of Molthal, born from the very forges of the city"

She tapped her staff off the ground, giving just enough power to light a flame atop it. A tad much but she'd always had a little flair for the dramatic. "I suggest you listen to HIS words with exceptional care". Her piece said, she took a step back and three to the side. It was time. She'd noticed their gazes hadn't been fixed on her but quite some feet above her head.

 

[Naghi]

Naghi stood taller than any other man in the room. His boots thumped against the wooden floor as he moved behind the necromancer, bright glowing eyes slowly flowing over the rest of the room as he gauged the men who stood around him.

He could see the fear in the eyes of some of the guards, their hands tightening on their weapons and their souls seeming to freeze as he peered at them. A small smile touched his lips, his head shaking slightly. Pathetic. How had this town survived this long? How had no one else taken it.

The weakness of man.

An eyebrow was raised as he spotted an Orc standing by the fireplace. He did not recognize him, though it did not seem he came from the blight. A frown touched his lips nevertheless, and then slowly he returned his gaze towards the center of it all; the Governor himself.

"My message is a simple one." Naghi's voice boomed through the hall. It seemed to resound and thunder off the walls, reverberating and assaulting the ear.

"My army arrives in a day." His gaze was fixed upon the governor. "Open your gates. Capitulate."

The great half giant looked around the room. "And you will all be allowed to live."

 

[Notarius]

Between the time that the runner had left and the arrival of the emissaries, a small crowd had shuffled into the hall. A dozen of Toirbheartan's guard stood alongside their captain, merchant lords of various standing whispered to one another, several representatives from nearby Orcish tribes watched with hard eyes, and a few other guests were tight lipped. The audience clung to the walls leaving a straightaway from the hall's doorway to the throne.

When Dianaimh and Naghi entered the room Governor Primewater's mouth went dry. The sight of the one named Naghi was unnerving. Naghi towered over the tallest man Primewater had ever seen. His eyes were unnatural too- an intense red that made a smithy's forge look dull. Upon their entrance three guards positioned themselves between the Governor and the emissaries.

It felt as if the walls shuddered when Naghi spoke. Governor Primewater then felt all eyes shift toward him. He let Naghi's demands hang in the air for a moment. He moved for the goblet of Amberose left beside his throne. He forced his trembling hand to steady. He took a slow sip, a negotiating tactic taught to him by his father, and then placed the goblet down. He let the mulled wine coat his throat, and then the Governor spoke, "Toirbheartan is pleased, and honored, to have guests such as yourselves from Molthal," He paused, "However, I wish you had sent a runner beforehand so that I could ensure a more appropriate reception for guests of your standing." It was an attempt to stall, but it was as futile as the capabilities of the three guards between them.

There was silence.

Primewater spoke up again, "Let us find common ground, dear guests. There is no need to march men into our city. We have not sought war, nor will we. We are merchants and farmers; simple folk. Perhaps it would be in Molthol's interests to overlook this settlement and allocate resources elsewhere? If it is trade that you seek, Toirbheartan would be more than happy to draft up an agreement that would be mutually beneficial."

The Governor watched the crowd's gaze shift toward the emissaries. They waited on their word.

 

[Heike Eisen]

The gates were not an option. They never were. Heike could perhaps avoid close scrutiny when in a city by raising up the small hood on the back of her coat to hide her features and pulling loose her shawl, wearing it draped from her shoulders and down to her waist, hiding her arms and more importantly her claws within. But at the gates of any city, the guards always paid more attention, and as well they should. Loose clothes, hoods, masks, all drew suspicion.

It was simply easier to wait for the fall of night. Scale or outright jump over the walls. Then blend in among the populace already inside the city. Keep to herself.

She could walk outside during the day if absolutely necessary. Three rules. Keep her head down, keep her shawl held tight, and keep her back to the sun. If direct sunlight caught the skin between the top of her mask and the bottom of her hood, or any bit of exposed skin on her body, disaster. Death--actual death--would be likely. She doubted severely that any townsfolk anywhere across Arethil would spare her once they got a good look at her, figured out what she was--no matter how helpless she might look while under the oppressive weight of the sun.

In the night she had the advantage. It was to a certain degree suspicious for people to be out at night, and that concern was sure to be heightened here in Toirbheartan now. But often Heike could see guards or citizens coming far before they saw her, and disappear accordingly.

Heike fed once while in the city. An old widower, not that much different from the old man in the cabin in the mountains. She had spent some time--though she hated to use the word it was the truth of the matter--stalking him. Assessing what he did and where he lived and with whom he lived and ultimately if she could feed from him and get away without him or anyone else knowing. And she did, the poor old man likely to wake up feeling quite woozy and tired.

A terrible irony. That Heike had come here to Toirbheartan seeking to do something which would aid them in their plight against Molthal, but in order for her to do so it was necessary to prey upon them.

Damn her affliction.

During her short time spent in Toirbheartan, eventually it reached her ear through overheard conversations that emissaries of Molthal had come. A half-giant and a sorceress. Or a full-giant and an assassin. Or an ogre and a Dreadlord, of all things. The story shifted in its details, but the core components stayed the same. And these emissaries were here, today, in the governor's hall.

Heike wanted to see for herself.

And so she carefully made her way through the town, joining in with the small crowd of curious citizens that had gathered outside the governor's hall and stood whispering and murmuring to one another. She stood to the back of the crowd, mindful of keeping the spotty sunlight to her back, thankful of the clouds that meandered through the sky and blocked its rays.

 

[Dianaimh Ui Muirgheal]

In truth there were soldiers already within march of the walls. Molthal was strong in infantry but weak in other arms. Many of their scouts and outriders were auxiliaries, a mixture of natives and their own tribal levies from the Spine and Blightlands. It was those that were the vanguard while the first cohorts marched behind.

Dianaimh could feel that the tension had ratcheted up another notch or two. Her fist tightened a little on her staff and she ran over an incantation in her lest violence break out. Naghi's sheer physical presence seemed to give them pause however. She let him conduct the negotiations, her eyes roving the ground in case there were any erstwhile assassins amongst the audience.

A chill passed over her and she bit back a gasp. Something was in the crowd but she didn't know what. Her eyes scanned again, probing further. Something she'd not sensed in a long time. She grasped for the feeling, striving to recall the memory. All she could tell was that it was something dead.

 

[Naghi]

"Governor." Naghi's voice rumbled through the hall, his annoyance at being negotiated with clear.

He had not come to this hall to make friends. He had not come to this hall to spare petty banter or converse. This was a grace. A mercy. He had offered his hand in peace and friendship. Now this man had the gall to try and gain more?

The Half-giant growled low.

"This is not a parlay." Thunder rolled forth from his throat as he took a single step forward. Every guard in the hall reached for their weapon, some lowering pikes as though it would be enough to stop him. "I do not wish trade. I do not wish friendship."

His gaze swept around the room. "Your city is a stopping point, nothing more."

Slowly his glowing eyes looked around the room.

"From here my army will march across the west." His fingers slowly rolled into a fist. "We will conquer, burn, and take as we please."

The Half-Giant's eyes slowly returned to Notarius. "You can either join me, or be the first to burn."

 

[Notarius]

Primewater froze in his seat. A murmur had broken out among those gathered in his hall. His guards had lowered their pikes, but he could feel their fear. He raised a hand as a call for silence and order was restored. His green eyes scanned the crowd. Wide eyes stared back at him. What would their leader do next? Molthal made it clear there was no room for negotiation. Toirbhearten was pressed up against an anvil, and the blacksmith's hammer was ready to drop.

The Governor stood up slowly. He looked out on the dozens gathered in his hall and commanded, "Toll the bells thrice. Open the castle's gates. Have the populace gather before my keep. Their leader has some news for them." He then moved for the blade that was displayed above the governor's throne.

It was an old longsword of blue steel that had been carried by Toirbhearten's founders. The blade still held its shine thanks to the servants who kept it sharp and well-oiled, though it never saw any use. Its hilt was made of bronze and ornately designed with figures of men and depictions of the wilderness that surrounded the city. Like the breastplate that Primewater wore the blade was another symbol of pageantry; after each regime the longsword was passed on to the next governor of Toirbhearten.

The crowd burst out into a roar- shouts, curses, and heckles were all aimed at the Governor. With the blade in hand and his position on the hall's dais his voice carried an air of authority and cut through the commotion, "I have spoken." Unfortunately Primewater knew what needed to be done for the greater good of his city.

 

[Heike Eisen]

Heike waited among the crowd outside the hall. Latecomers were meandering up, idling along with everyone else who could not enter the hall proper. Their curiosity palpable, the undercurrent of dread like a creeping chill seeping in through the glass of a window. Heike listened to those around her; their fears, their worries, what could they do, where could they go? All was being decided by their Governor right now, or so they thought. Heike held a different notion, a view of the world and the transpiring of events that those around her would likely find...destabilizing. Unsettling.

Nothing was being decided by their Governor, not in the sense these people meant it. For all things had already been decided, their realization set into motion inevitably by happenings precursory. This Governor merely stepped into a ready-made footprint crafted for him by the world he inhabited, and now he simply walked the only path allowed him. It was the same for Heike; she knew why she was here, everything that led to this, all the elements which so determined her course. It was the same for all.

A man emerged from the hall. In a hurry. Running.

"Make way! Make way!" he proclaimed. "Toll the bells thrice! Governor Primewater has spoken! Toll the bells! Raise the gates! Gather your families before the keep! Governor Primewater has spoken!"

Heike watched as the crowd parted and the man ran down the street leading to the hall hollering out his message over and over, yellow eyes tracking him like a hawk on its prey. When his cries faded with distance and she lost sight of him, she looked back to the hall. Waited still.

Yes. All things decided.

Now they need only be seen.

Ella would be avenged here in Toirbhearten, or avenged elsewhere. But avenge her Heike would.

 

[Naghi]

Naghi hadn't actually expected the Governor to surrender.

He had faced few people in the Blightlands who'd actually had anything resembling pragmatism. Most men of power were far too narcissistic or boisterous to ever accept that they had already lost. Yet here this man was, understanding the truth of his situation.

It almost made the half-giant want to respect him. Almost.

His lips curled back in what could be called an approximation of a smile. Glowing eyes flickered for a brief moment over the rest of the room, watching the dawning displeasure that seemed to draw across the features of the guards.

A few had already realized their fate, though most seemed to still be trying to think of just why the Governor would be surrendering. Naghi shook his head, lips folding back over his teeth as he straightened slightly and began to follow the Governor.

The Half-Giant moved quickly, every one of his step equaling three of the Governors as they walked together.

He intended to stay true to his word. Toirbheartan would stand for another century if the Governor did as he had said. He was of conquest and blood, but he could keep his word.

Raising himself up behind the Governor, Naghi waited for his speech of capitulation.

 

[Notarius]

The Governor walked down the long stone passageway that led to the castle’s grand balcony. He could feel Naghi’s eyes on him as they walked. With each step the long sword felt heavier. Primewater was disappointed in himself. He would be known as the most disgraceful governor to sit on the throne.

The doors to the balcony were thrown open. He could hear the low roar of the crowd that had gathered outside as they approached. He took a deep breath and stepped out onto the ancient perch and saw his subjects. There were several thousand. The courtyard couldn’t hold them all and they spilled out onto Toirbheartan’s main thruway. The day’s overcast set a grim mood on the assembly. Banners whipped in the wind. Those below huddled in fear and suspense. And when Naghi stepped onto the balcony beside Governor the audience responded in a uniform gasp of shock and horror.

Governor Primewater raised his hand for silence, “My dear and proud citizens of Toirbheartan,” His voice carried over the courtyard, “Your Governor has negotiated with the honorable emissaries of Molthol. They have promised us safety in return that we lay down our arms. I struggled to find a solution that did not blemish my pride nor your safety. And thus I have arrived at my decision.” He raised the magnificent long sword for all to behold. Like those gathered in his hall the crowd responded accordingly- jeers, insults, curses. But with another hand order was restored.

“Like those before me, and those after me,” Primewater began the rite and he turned to face Naghi. He could feel the eyes of those behind him- the witch of Molthol, disappointed lords, his friends. The Governor continued, “Those who wield the blade of Toirb shall serve their subjects with dignity and honor. We have tamed the wild and carved a home for all beneath our banners,” His heart raced. His knuckles were white from clenching the blade’s hilt. His palms were sweaty, “We are friends with those who bring peace, and will stand against those who bring war. So it is with my presiding authority that I pass thee the blade with the utmost confidence that you will reign true, Lord Naghi of Molthol.”

He looked once more to the crowd and said in a thunderous voice, “It has been an honor, my dear citizens of Toirbhearten.”

With the quickness that could only come from adrenaline Governor Primewater thrusted the long sword into the exposed abdomen of Naghi, putting all of his weight behind the attack.

The crowd gasped. Screams filled the courtyard.

The point of the blade met Naghi’s flesh with the sound of a metallic cling. After a brief moment the blade gave way. The long sword of Toirb shattered into hundreds of pieces. The Governor fell forward into Naghi’s torso.

He slowly looked up to find Naghi staring back at him. Primewater went cold. He could feel the eyes pierce his soul. Fear took hold of Rollin Primewater. All he could do was stand there as a warm trickle of water streamed down his leggings.

 

[Naghi]

Naghi stared down at the man who had tried to gut him.

His lips thinned, and then parted into that broken facade of a smile that the half-giant could manage. His moustache seemed to bristle slightly, glowing red eyes focusing entirely on the governor. "A week ago that would have worked."

A large gray hand slowly reached up. The rumble of his voice was only loud enough for him and the Governor to hear, the sound of his voice almost seeming to buzz with an untold force.

"Then." Naghi reached out and grabbed the Governor by the throat, his fingers reaching around and beginning to slowly crush the humans breath of air. "I consumed the heart of a Dragon and nailed it's corpse to the floor."

His fist crushed the Governors windpipe. "I had such high hopes for you, and yet...here you stand, a fool like the rest."

The Half-giant grumbled, and then there was a snap. It seemed to ring out within the crowd below, the sound loud enough to shatter the uproar that had started to begun as the Governor had tried to stab Naghi. A deep collective breath sounded below as the Governor's corpse was raised high above the Balcony by the Half Giant.

"CITIZENS OF TOIRBHEARTAN!" His voice boomed out over the square, loud enough to hear a mile away. "YOUR GOVERNOR HAS BETRAYED YOU! SO I LEAVE THE CHOICE TO YOU!"

His fingers tightened, and then he threw the governors corpse into the crowd below. "WILL YOU BURN! OR WILL YOU RISE WITH ME TO CONQUER THESE LANDS?!"

It was not the offer he had given the governor, no, it was something better. Before he had intended this city to be little more than a staging point, but why stop there? His father had thought humans weak, but they could die like any other race.

Why not use them?

 

[Dianaimh Ui Muirgheal]

Dianaimh stood there, slack jawed and gaping.

Normally she'd have had better control but normally she didn't witness a governor's defenestration. Her urge for self-preservation kicked and she took up a firmer stance, holding her staff with both hands. Her eyes roved the crowd, daring anyone to go for her.

She tried not to dare too hard. It only took one bravo with a knife to end her while she scorched another. Her feet inched their way towards where Naghi had gone. The half-giant was a good deterrent to any would be heroes. Few men were going to be brave enough to go up against a man mountain.

Still, the odds were stacked against them enough. Right now Dianaimh wished a cohort of Blight Orcs were around her in a defensive square.

 

[Heike Eisen]

Heike watched from the thousand-strong crowd outside the Governor's hall. They'd come at the summons of their Governor and Heike found that she no longer stood at the back and was isolated, but had been made through the immense gathering of the Toirbheartan citizenry to be utterly surrounded. It made her nervous to have so many people about her, to have no easy means of escape without expending blood and exerting herself. But none around her paid her any mind, for they were all focused on the balcony and their Governor.

Heike swore she could feel the energy of the crowd shift before the small uproar began once the Governor announced that he'd arrived at his decision. A peculiar thought. Was this what it felt like to be in tune with magic, the intangible made perceptible in some vague way? Heike didn't know, she was but one of the many to be born without a lick of magical affinity.

And that energy was a great many things, a confluence of emotions shared among the crowd like lightning shared among stormclouds: shock, anger, disappointment, everything and anything that balked against what the Governor was saying. Heike herself thought it disappointing, an utter shame. Appalling, even. A knight of the Golden Blade would have been summarily executed for even suggesting surrender in the face of the enemy, and Heike carried that fighting spirit with her still, warm blood or no.

She didn't expect what happened next. The Governor's defiant stand, his merciless execution, and his body callously thrown from the balcony. And that giant bellowed his 'choice'.

Heike narrowed her eyes, glaring up at the balcony and the giant standing and presiding over the citizenry upon it. The tyranny, the thievery of this city's liberty, it was an absolute affront to Heike. And worse, the giant's offer to "rise with him and conquer" would only drive scores of unwilling men and women into slavery, either directly in combat or in support of it, of that Heike was certain.

She didn't want to do it. A tinge of uncharacteristic fear coated her skin, her thoughts. Don't put yourself at risk in so foolish an action. Remember your oaths, remember your promise to Ella. You will not fulfill it if you make a grave mistake here.

But she knew she would. This was the shape of the world defining itself. She'd found Ella in refuge from her destroyed village (for reasons stretching even further back), joined the large caravan, the caravan was sacked by an orcish warparty and Ella perished despite Heike's efforts, she swore a new promise to the dead girl, and that promise had led her here. Now. This moment, in this place.

There was anger, a potent but silent anger, sizzling among the crowd. But there was no spark to ignite it into the flame it should be if these people were to have any hope of resistance.

Heike would be that spark. And so she yelled out at the top of her lungs, "NO!"

Her voice an echo across those gathered and bouncing from the hall and the buildings nearby. Difficult to pinpoint in the sea of faces, and she was careful not to make extraneous movements.

But that did it. A small portion of the crowd all yelled "NO!" Then a much larger portion. Then the majority. Then the roaring whole of those gathered chanted it, over and over. They raised their fists, thrusting them repeatedly in the air as if the lot of them were banging gavels. Somehow the chant had morphed from "NO! NO! NO!" to "TOIRB-HEAR-TAN! TOIRB-HEAR-TAN!"

A small mistake on her part, perhaps. Heike did not thrust her fist into the air as was everyone else. She merely glared up at the balcony. Yellow eyes burning with satisfaction and a simmering rage of her own as she regarded the giant.