The Lindwell Estate
Artur's hands were splayed across the papers on his desk. Reports of the happenings on the edge of the city kept coming in. He had known about the
orcs like many in his circle of society, but both the dragon and the
undead had been unwelcome surprises. Drops of sweet beaded down the left side of his face. He had thought that it would be relatively simple to use this siege as a tool to stretch his influence that much farther. Now, it seemed, that it would be a more difficult game than he anticipated. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, threatening to unveil itself. The bigger the risk, the bigger the reward and unlike his peers Artur knew that he would not shy away from this risk.
"Donos, I have a message for Alkitt and his men." Apart from the Merchant Lord himself, there were two other men in the room. The first, who stood rigidly to the side of Artur's desk, was Henri Locket. A somber man, he was the Lindwell's head butler and Artur's most trusted confidante. The other was the man to whom the Lord's comment was addressed, Donos. A recent graduate from
Alliria's schools, the young mage specialized in long-distance communications. A skill that Artur took the utmost advantage of.
The young man reacted immediately. Words, twisted and confusing to both the Lord and his butler, poured from his lips as his hands twisted and turned upon a pre-made tool. A disk of solid obsidian with electrum inlay. The metal filled markings begin to flicker and glow as Donos chanted until a snap rang through the room.
"This is Alkitt, My Lord." A fair, but still masculine, voice reverberated from the disk.
"I have express instructions for you Alkitt. I have just now learned that Ignisa Aravell, a diplomat for Tarnossia, is upon the walls herself. You are to take your soldiers and seek her out. Aid her in any way you can, but make sure she knows that it is the House that extends its hand in this time of conflict."
"I understand, My Lord. It will be done." As soon as the Knight gave his confirmation, Donos released the spell he had been channeling. With a weakened gasp, the young swayed on his feet. His eyes clouded ever so slightly.
"Go, and sit outside Donos." With a weak nod to his Lord the man fumbled through the door.
"What is it Henri?" The Butler had moved his hands from his sides to his back. A signal that had long meant he had something to say to his Lord.
The butler's dark brown, almost black eyes locked onto his Lord's own hazel-flecked rings of green. An act that outside the confines of privacy would have been a most egregious disregard for formality. From underneath his coat the man pulled out a small stack of papers. Written upon them were columns of items and numbers, declarations and personal statements, and in the corner of every page was the crest of House Lindwell. A silver sunrise.
"This is the information you had requested."
"Yes, those must be referring to the refugees that flocked to my House, correct?" Artur carried on, not even glanced at the shallow nod from his butler.
"And the records of the healers. They have been paid and it seems that they are doing their job well."
"Yes, the healers are spreading word that it is House Lindwell that is caring for the poor and destitute. I have taken the liberty of planting informants amongst the vagrants, to keep an eye on the healers and to make sure they are doing the job they were hired to do."
"Good" Artur leaned back within his chair, glancing out at the fires in the distance, as Henri brought a new stack of reports to his desk. More risks and more rewards.
Upon the Walls
Ser Alkitt, Head Knight of House Lindwell, stood tall upon the battlements. Arrows and bolts streaked past him. The shouts of dying men and the grunts of slaughtered pigs assailed the sides of his helm. He was adorned with plate of the finest steel and a midnight blue talbard, upon which the mark of his Lord's House was displayed for all to see. The invaders had yet to reach the wall proper, still being pushed back by Alliria's ranged forces. But Alkitt knew that it would not stay. There was a flood of enemies across the field, not to mention the gods-damned lizard that oversaw the battle.
"Hold Men," His armored fist hung high as the orcs regrouped from the last volley. As they reached the same point, roughly 300 yards from the foot of the walls, his fist came crashing down. And with it sung the snapping of taut bows and the whistling song of arrows as they sped to their new homes. This repeated again and again, like clockwork. But it could not continue. He had received his Lord's orders, and he would complete them. Just as he had over the past two decades.
After being replaced by one of his Captains, Alkitt sought out the Wall Commander. Thankfully the Knight had set his men just next to the stretch of battlements over the gate proper. Running between rushing bodies of young men, his foot caught. As he looked down, the dead eyes of a boy, roughly the same age as his son, looked back up at him. After all these years, the Knight had hoped the horrors of war would
fade, but it would always be sights like these that would bring them rushing back.
But he was a Knight, and to let his emotions overtake him would be unbefitting. That was the realm of mercenaries and other despoiled cur. So he shoved them down and locked them in that dark box that all men knew of. They would come for him, like spectres and shades of a dark wizard's make. He steeled himself once more, his hand gripping the pommel of his blade, white-knuckled inside his gauntlet. He would slay those demons, just as he had every night he dared to close his eyes.
Pushing forward, Alkitt came upon the Wall Commander. The man was hunched over one of those disks that the mages used to communicate. It was a well known fact that the man had a respectable talent for magic. A skill that had set him apart and allowed him to grow from being a farmer's son to one of the most decorated defenders of Alliria.
"Wall Commander," Alkitt spoke loud but clear, his back straight and strong.
Corphus, the Commander, was clad in black scale embellished with silver inlay. It was rumoured that it was enchanted to make it impervious to all manner of arrow or bolt. Though Alkitt did not know if this was true or not. The Commander's electric blue eyes bore into the Knight from underneath his barbute (A style of helm).
"Ser Alkitt, an unexpected pleasure. It seems that Lord Lindwell is among the few that dedicated his personal guard to the city's defense." A trickle of venom seeped into the Commander's words. Venom that in any other setting would have been masked and hidden with nary a trace.
"Yes Commander, though I have received new orders." Alkitt bowed his head slightly, an unspoken apology from one soldier to another.
The Commander grunted,
"Damned politics again. They have no place in war." With a sigh the aged man straightened. His broad-shouldered form towering over those around him.
"I suppose that he wants you to make contact with those elf diplomats. No, no need to say anything. Look there." The Commander's hand pointed up and to the distance where a beckoning storm began to brew.
"Just follow the storm and you'll find her and her brother. Now go Alkitt."
Bowing lightly to the Commander he turned on his heels and made his way back to his men. Rounding them up He marched them to the battlements underneath the growing storm. Like him, his men clutched at their weapons. They did so in earnest after the sky turned into a storm of fire. Explosions rocked around them as his men marched up the battlements. Eventually they found themselves next to the
elven dignitaries.
With short, direct orders Alkitt got his men formed upon the wall where they resumed their earlier activity of firing upon the orcish masses. The Knight himself turned to the woman in question. She appeared young to his eyes, though that meant nothing when dealing with
elves. Her brown hair matched the shade of her eyes. It was a healthy brown, like the bark of young pine in a northern forest. She had fair skin, almost snow-kissed., and she was tall, only a few inches shorter than Alkitt himself. He immediately made note of the blade hanging from her waist. It's pommel and guard, while slightly embellished, were practical in their design. And the grip was not made from wired gold, but cloth and strips of leather. The sheath itself, a thing of beauty, was not drowned in jewels and precious metals, but intricate leatherworking. An item created by a master of his craft who had come to understand and love the medium of his work with a passion few attained.
Alkitt knew that this was no spoiled brat of some noble. This was a woman to whom the rigours of the world had called, and she had welcomed them willingly. Much like another young woman Alkitt had once known.
Bowing to her as she finished casting her spell,
"My Lady Aravell. My Lord has sent me and my men here to aid and support you." As he looked up, his own blue eyes met her brown ones.
"What would you command of us?"
Ignisa Aravell
