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The Altrator Pass - Anirian Border
Though winter would soon be coming to a close, one would never have been able to guess so from taking a good look at their surroundings. A thick coat of frost and snow permeated everything within eyesight, from the high peaks to the deep ravines, while a cutting, frosty wind howled loudly from the rocky fells, screeching in their ears, as it cut their faces with its chilling touch.
A rickety rope bridge hung before him, leading over the gorge that stood between them and the next chain of snow-capped peaks. It rocked unsteadily in the wind, the old rope creaking with every gust, as though it could come apart with every sudden flare-up.
It did not really instil confidence, though, given what they were setting out to do, what would?
- “Tell me again, why do we need to wait for this girl?” - Admir’s voice rang out behind him, his voice clearly straining to be heard over the raging gale. Ivan pulled the thick woollen scarf down from his nose, and turned to face his companion.
- “Because,” - He had meant to provide the full response then and there, though, as he realised how much of an effort it was to project his voice over the howling of the wind, he quickly thought better of it. He instead opted to lead Admir behind a rocky outcropping, taking his hood off as well, as soon as they stood behind their stone shield.
- “Because the Wraith is a wreck.” - He said. - “The hull is breached, the upper deck is gone, and the lower ones have been rotted away to oblivion.” - He glanced sideways towards a narrow pass between the mountains behind them, towards the pass from whence they had come, and from where Zephyrine would most likely also be coming from. - “So unless you want to spend a month chopping and carting wood down to the Bay, and then a month or two more to make repairs, I think it is worth waiting a few days for someone who can help us speed this along.” -
He cast a glance over Admir’s shoulder, towards a rocky nook carved out of the side of the mountain further up ahead. There, equally sheltered from the frosty winds of the frontier, a group of about a dozen men huddled together around a small fire.
- “How are they holding up?” - Ivan asked Admir. They hadn’t left Aniria proper that long ago, but, truth be told, every moment in this frozen hellscape could feel like an eternity at times.
Admir scratched at the back of his head, somewhat apologetically, as if he was trying to strike the right balance between the words he had heard, and those he thought to convey.
- “Well, they ain’t pleased to have their asses frozen off out here, if that’s what you’re asking.” - He paused momentarily, glancing at the men with a frown. - “Though, truth be told, I think they’re happy enough that you showed up at all.” - He said awkwardly.
Not as awkwardly as Ivan felt about having to ask them to be here in the first place, though. In spite of their rather unremarkable - even if thuggish - appearance, those men had not been picked randomly. Indeed, they all shared something, one facet that had set them apart from everyone else, and that had caused the blonde to seek them out above all others:
They had all been born in the lands of the Margraviate of Valdorren. In other words, they had all been his mother’s subjects.
These Valdorreans had been living in Aniria ever since Alisa’s death, when the Skender fortress had been abandoned, though - truth be told - since then they had never quite enjoyed all the privileges that Anirian society had to offer. Poor, and mostly illiterate, these men had had no really valuable crafts when they arrived in in their new homeland. No military training, no sought-after trades, nor any established connections. In short, they had been doomed to poverty from the start.
For the most part, those who could, had taken up employment in the fishing industry, doing the dangerous high-seas runs as they had under the Skender... and which were as undesirable for local Anirians as it was poorly paid. They had laboured ceaselessly for a decade and a half, only to find themselves as destitute as when they had arrived, and their children seemingly fated to that same future of thankless hard-labour.
That though, had been when Admir had returned to them, with their long-lost Margrave in tow.
For Ivan, his mother’s subjects’ plight had turned out to be a silver lining, as a large number of them had been fairly eager to follow a Skender once more.
Be that as it may, Ivan had no shadow of a doubt that these men had not chosen to follow him simply because of his family’s heritage. It had not been for his Skender blood, nor some sense of loyalty either to his deceased mother, or their long-lost homeland, but rather because, after almost 20 years in Aniria, he had been the only one to show even a hint of interest in them.
In other words, they had followed him because, even without money, prestige or any semblance of power, he was their best shot at a better life.
It did have to be said though, that - mundane as it may be - when one’s ass was freezing in the midst of a blizzard, one could be forgiven for second-guessing how much sense it made following a broke 17-year-old into the wilderness for the promise of a better life, regardless of how sound it had seemed in the first place.
So as to avoid that, he knew well enough - courtesy of the Academy - how to keep up morale, as well as how to use both carrot and stick to achieve the discipline he knew he’d need out of these men.
He tapped Admir on the shoulder, and walked over to the fire. From his pack, he produced a large bottle of Falwood Moonshine, and proceeded to pour a fair amount of it onto each of the men's glasses.
- “Cheers boys!” - He beckoned, raising his glass above the fire. - “To our adventure!” -
A rickety rope bridge hung before him, leading over the gorge that stood between them and the next chain of snow-capped peaks. It rocked unsteadily in the wind, the old rope creaking with every gust, as though it could come apart with every sudden flare-up.
It did not really instil confidence, though, given what they were setting out to do, what would?
- “Tell me again, why do we need to wait for this girl?” - Admir’s voice rang out behind him, his voice clearly straining to be heard over the raging gale. Ivan pulled the thick woollen scarf down from his nose, and turned to face his companion.
- “Because,” - He had meant to provide the full response then and there, though, as he realised how much of an effort it was to project his voice over the howling of the wind, he quickly thought better of it. He instead opted to lead Admir behind a rocky outcropping, taking his hood off as well, as soon as they stood behind their stone shield.
- “Because the Wraith is a wreck.” - He said. - “The hull is breached, the upper deck is gone, and the lower ones have been rotted away to oblivion.” - He glanced sideways towards a narrow pass between the mountains behind them, towards the pass from whence they had come, and from where Zephyrine would most likely also be coming from. - “So unless you want to spend a month chopping and carting wood down to the Bay, and then a month or two more to make repairs, I think it is worth waiting a few days for someone who can help us speed this along.” -
He cast a glance over Admir’s shoulder, towards a rocky nook carved out of the side of the mountain further up ahead. There, equally sheltered from the frosty winds of the frontier, a group of about a dozen men huddled together around a small fire.
- “How are they holding up?” - Ivan asked Admir. They hadn’t left Aniria proper that long ago, but, truth be told, every moment in this frozen hellscape could feel like an eternity at times.
Admir scratched at the back of his head, somewhat apologetically, as if he was trying to strike the right balance between the words he had heard, and those he thought to convey.
- “Well, they ain’t pleased to have their asses frozen off out here, if that’s what you’re asking.” - He paused momentarily, glancing at the men with a frown. - “Though, truth be told, I think they’re happy enough that you showed up at all.” - He said awkwardly.
Not as awkwardly as Ivan felt about having to ask them to be here in the first place, though. In spite of their rather unremarkable - even if thuggish - appearance, those men had not been picked randomly. Indeed, they all shared something, one facet that had set them apart from everyone else, and that had caused the blonde to seek them out above all others:
They had all been born in the lands of the Margraviate of Valdorren. In other words, they had all been his mother’s subjects.
These Valdorreans had been living in Aniria ever since Alisa’s death, when the Skender fortress had been abandoned, though - truth be told - since then they had never quite enjoyed all the privileges that Anirian society had to offer. Poor, and mostly illiterate, these men had had no really valuable crafts when they arrived in in their new homeland. No military training, no sought-after trades, nor any established connections. In short, they had been doomed to poverty from the start.
For the most part, those who could, had taken up employment in the fishing industry, doing the dangerous high-seas runs as they had under the Skender... and which were as undesirable for local Anirians as it was poorly paid. They had laboured ceaselessly for a decade and a half, only to find themselves as destitute as when they had arrived, and their children seemingly fated to that same future of thankless hard-labour.
That though, had been when Admir had returned to them, with their long-lost Margrave in tow.
For Ivan, his mother’s subjects’ plight had turned out to be a silver lining, as a large number of them had been fairly eager to follow a Skender once more.
Be that as it may, Ivan had no shadow of a doubt that these men had not chosen to follow him simply because of his family’s heritage. It had not been for his Skender blood, nor some sense of loyalty either to his deceased mother, or their long-lost homeland, but rather because, after almost 20 years in Aniria, he had been the only one to show even a hint of interest in them.
In other words, they had followed him because, even without money, prestige or any semblance of power, he was their best shot at a better life.
It did have to be said though, that - mundane as it may be - when one’s ass was freezing in the midst of a blizzard, one could be forgiven for second-guessing how much sense it made following a broke 17-year-old into the wilderness for the promise of a better life, regardless of how sound it had seemed in the first place.
So as to avoid that, he knew well enough - courtesy of the Academy - how to keep up morale, as well as how to use both carrot and stick to achieve the discipline he knew he’d need out of these men.
He tapped Admir on the shoulder, and walked over to the fire. From his pack, he produced a large bottle of Falwood Moonshine, and proceeded to pour a fair amount of it onto each of the men's glasses.
- “Cheers boys!” - He beckoned, raising his glass above the fire. - “To our adventure!” -
