Open Chronicles The Sacking of Salitra

[Gerra]

The emperor traveled up to the trident coast with his army, prepared to besiege the city of Salitra if it came to it in the name of liberation.

They made camp within sight of the city and Gerra summoned his generals and viziers to a war council beneath the tent.

He had not spoken of what he had seen in the desert on his pilgrimage, but they did not yet need to know.

“Uvogin, Ava, Ashuanar, what is the status of the city? Has the rebellion taken root?”

 

[Ashuanar]

He was used to traveling across the desert, but not like this. Mobilizing the army had been an arduous task in itself - the scars of Ninagal still throbbed, and there was a certain level of emnity in the air. But it had come a long way from when they'd left from Annuakat. The experienced began to aid those less so, and the stronger aided the weaker. Their trials across the sands had eroded away resentment and strife and served instead to shape the army closer to a whole.

As it had been for the Abtati for many generations, it would now be for the whole of the Empire. The desert would test them, and shape them. And so it had, and would always.

For the sands
would rise...

...and be parted...
​

...and unveil the
glory of The Empire.
​

The glory chosen one, God of fire.
King of Kings.
Hasuras na-Gerra.​

He made a brisk pace to the war-room, two of his most trusted in tow. As they made their way through a vast sea of tents, he addressed many with praise as he went. Morale was exceptionally high given their task, and the journey to it. But even as wounds still healed the spoils of victory were too not far from thought, and Ashuanar's hunger for victory - by whatever means - was great.

The Empire was growing strong. And with the Emperor there in their midst, they felt as though victory was assured.

As far as the Imperial Army's Vizier was concerned, it was.

He opened the tent with the brush of one arm and entered in, removing his head covering with the other hand.

"My Lord," he bowed his head, and approached.

His duties with the army, paired with his studies and training that had been assigned to him by the lector priests, had stolen much of his attention. He had left all the matters city-side to Uvogin and Ava.

Surely, they had proceeded as had been planned in Annuakat.

 

[Acteon Cass]

The sands of Amol-Kalit were a long way from the Allirian Reach. A very, very long way away. So what could possibly be good enough to get Acteon to come this far from home? Gold. Lots of gold. The ruler of Salitra, Soleiman Afrit, was offering enough to allow any man to live well for the rest of their lives. The catch? All Acteon needed to do was survive until his services were no longer required. Did it sound shady? Absolutely. Was the gold still worth the risk? Absolutely.

Acteon leaned against a wall while at his duty. A chainmail tunic with a brigandine over it covered his chest. A pair of leather boots with metal plates attached covered his feet and shins. It was pretty basic for the most part and he lacked any helmet. Why would he want to cover such a handsome face? That and the heat was already bad enough without making things worse. An arming sword and a dagger on his hip were sheathed. He looked the part of a hired sellsword, which suited him well. It made it easier should any locals be angry at their local lord. Which was something he had heard whispers of being true here. Might explain that condition for getting paid.

Amber eyes gazed over the city. It was different. The way people made their buildings was novel. Instead of timber and stone they seemed to use clay and stone. Was it the lack of easy lumber? Perhaps. If someone could find a way to bring wood here in enough quantity how much profit could they make? Would it be worth it? His merchant side was already weighing the risks and rewards.

Acteon was broken out of his thoughts as a different mercenary from some other foreign part of the world tapped his shoulder. He looked over at them and smiled as he was relieved of his duty. A quick thanks and nothing to report followed before the reachman left. Was this job going to be worth it? There was a lot of mercenaries running around right now and few local guards. He knew they existed as he could smell them all over the place, but he didn't know where the man was stationing them. All the hired foreigners were being used for front line duty and the less important jobs. Wouldn't want grubby foreigners grabbing coins out of the treasury they were suppose to guard after all. Not that he blamed them. He would have stolen as much as he could if he had been stationed over the treasury.

 

[Halul]

The first time Uvogin was in Gerra's camp, it had been with the Order of the Bronze Claw. Mercenaries surrounded Gerra's tent, who had yet to be named emperor, and Uvogin himself was chaff. Now, the half-giant of molten earth stood above them as something greater than a mere emperor, and the former mercenary led the god-emperor's guard. Where the Bronze Claw once stood vigilant, Immortals took their place.

"With the information and assistance given by the vizier, three of my best have infiltrated the city to distribute arms to the rebel leaders. All that remains is to spark the kindling, and the city will erupt in rebellion. Everything is as planned, Emperor."

Salitra​

Mehmed, Uvogin's second-in-command and former First Talon of the Order of the Bronze Claw sat in a dimly lit cellar with the two other Immortals sent by the Captain. They had spent several days under the guise of merchants peddling cheap wares to disguise the distribution of weaponry and armor to the rebels. One of the leaders of said rebels paced in the sellar while muttering to himself.

"... foreign mercenaries... fuck! This wasn't- fuck!"

The two other Immortals stopped dressing themselves in their black armor and shared a glance with each other.

Mehmed, who was already dressed and held his horned helmet under his arm, shook his head and frowned. He was one of the three lieutenants under Uvogin.

"Your men," Mehmed addressed the rebel leader, "are they ready?"

"Ready!" The man spun and raised his voice to the Immortal. He'd been so occupied thinking of the mercenaries that he hadn't even noticed the men in their armor. The mere sight of blackened armor, and especially that of the fearsome shaitan masks, stunned the man. He cleared his throat. "If it was just the city guards, it was possible. We hadn't expected the mercenaries and so many! Weapons and armor- they don't matter against the foreigners."

Mehmed heartily laughed and slid the helmet over his head. The other two Immortals flanked the lieutenant. Perhaps the stress made the rebel leader delirious, or possibly it was the dim lighting, but for a moment, it appeared that the Immortals' eyes glowed red.

"Salitra falls today."​

 

[Medja]

Medja sat discontent at a chair within the war-room. An uncomfortable chair at best, but some of the other viziers had insisted that the sorceress' usual method of reclining was "disrespectful." Rather than resting in the comfort of the Fists of Aramekh, she had been made to take a seat at the table along with the rest of the bunch, the giant earthen hands tucked politely behind the chair.

Medja glanced around the room. A few familiar faces stuck out...or, masks in the case of the ever hard-to-read Uvogin. She smiled knowingly at the man, though she was unsure of whether or not she had actually made eye contact with him. The ever illustrious Abtati general, Ashuanar had also made his appearance; she hadn't met the man personally, but her informants had told her all she needed to know for the time. Medja was thankful that Gerra hadn't lowered himself to allowing the riff-raff mercenaries into the tent, several of which had dared to hound her on her way across the camp.

“Uvogin, Ava, Ashuanar, what is the status of the city? Has the rebellion taken root?”

The sorceress gritted her teeth. It seemed their God-Emperor had still not learned who the most reliable source of information in the room at any given time was. No matter. All would learn, given time.

"Your eminence," She spoke up. "My spies within the city confirm Captain Uvogin's report. We have sown the seeds of chaos, and Salitra is poised to fall at your whim."
The agents she had placed within the city had been building unrest within its walls for months now. Medja had personally orchestrated a massive economic decline to the point at which the average household could not afford a week's worth of food. Simultaneously, she had ensured that the many within the city's military had become unnecessarily strict with the citizenry. She had brewed the conditions for a perfect storm--rebellion was practically a natural response, at this point.

 

[Gerra]

Medja was no vizier, but she seemed to be a student of Ava Gilleth’s, or a contemporary. Gerra did not know whether they loved or hated each other, but both had spies. If Medja declared that the city was prepared to topple, then Gerra would believe her.

He nodded slowly in response to the reports from his officers.

“Very well, ignite the rebellion. Let Soleiman fall.”

 

[Ashuanar]

"And what of the army my lord, shall we advance?"

Indeed, there was a persistant presence along the city-side edge of where the army now rested. A line of soldiers, poised toward the city. And behind them the whole of the army bustled in a large encampment, dominating the Salitrans' view on the horizon.

Throughout the entire war camp, all manner of soldier prepared themselves and began to make their way toward the line and began to form rank, slowly growing out from the camp behind them.

Siege engines advanced, pushed and pulled by dozens of men. Chariots took up either end of the main line, and Abtati ranged riders formed up behind them.

They were eager for the call.

As was Ashuanar.

He wanted this city.

 

[Maecey]

Take two.

Maecey hated trying to do a job twice, it always felt like she was trying to compete with what she had done in the past. There was something about it that just felt off to her. Yet here she was, making her second attempt on the life of Emir Soleiman.

It wasn't like she had planned to fail the first time, in fact according to the Guild she hadn't failed at all. No one had thought the Emir would actually enter the battle and fend off the raiders that had come to attack Salitra.

Now though, now she doubted very much that good old Soleiman would go for round two of that particular notion.

The Empire was here, and unlike the Raiders it very much seemed that they would win this day.

That was all well and good for them of course, and many might have argued that Maecey's presence here was a bit redundant, but the man who hired the Guild and sent her apparently did not think the same. Emir Soleiman knew something, something that would be apparently unfortunate to land in the hands of the Empire...or anyone else for that matter.

So, not for the first time Maecey made her way towards the Emir's palace. Her tracks covered by the brewing chaos inside the city.

 

[Harrier]

Emir Soleiman Afrit was not a kind man, not an honourable man, not much of a man at all really. He was, however, inordinately rich. A significant fraction of the riches in question were now very much elsewhere. In their place he had one nondescript human woman on the verge of middle age, and a large quantity of assorted underwater undead.

Properly making and binding a competent undead was a work of sacrifice and expertise. Compelling an existing one, however, was a necromancer's birthright. The huge force amassing just beneath the shallows would have counted as motley and patchwork even without the odd missing limb and so forth. Thousands of shipwrecked pirates, barrow-wights, skeletons with and without rusty mail, swamp horrors, bonewalkers, zombies, mummified spectres, ghosts, shades, grave-eaters, haunters removed from their haunts - all under the control of Harrier Wren and a dozen trusted associates both living and not. Amassing them had taken, oh, years...but Soleiman had paid in full, and arranged certain sacrifices to ensure the necromancers operated at full strength. Win or lose, this place would never be the same.

Now Harrier stood on the walltop. Far ahead was the Empire's camp. Down and to the left, just off the city's northern wall, the tide washed beaches clean. The undead remained concealed just beneath the waves. They'd walked here from elsewhere. Not a soul, not even the Emir and his conventional generals, had seen them yet.

Harrier leaned on the plain staff that held the pyromantic spirit of High Priest Sroga Sule, and waited.

Gerra Ashuanar Uvogin Medja Acteon Cass

 

[Gerra]

“No.”

The imperial army was large, but fractious. While Ashuanar nominally commanded it, he truly only had the loyalty of the Abtati tribes. And not even all of them at that.

The Marya nobles of Annuakat still carried their own banners and commanded their retinues, as did the elite of the other cities. They still only followed Gerra because he seemed the strongest.

It would take time to reconstitute the army into one unified whole, even as Sparhawk labored now to create a navy.

If Gerra loosed this amalgam mass of warriors upon Salitra, they might very well end up burning it to the ground in a frenzy. Better to wait. Better to watch.

“If the rebels call for aid, we will attack the walls, but until then let them win their city by their own hands.”

 

[Acteon Cass]

The walk off back from his post was pleasant. The job was fairly easy so far for Acteon. All he had to do was just stand and keep a watch in whichever place he was told to (the ruler didn't trust the mercenaries enough to keep their duties regular so they could familiarize themselves) then he was free to do whatever after. It was nearly as easy as guarding a caravan on a peaceful route or guarding a small city shop.

But the good times came to an end. A disturbing smell hit Acteon's nose while he was near the wall and stopped him in his tracks. Death and decay. Sure he had smelled a lot of it since coming to the city but he figured it was due to a high mortality rate in the city. The people were not very well off and that was likely why his kind had been hired here. But this smell. This smell was far stronger. It was like a bonfire among torches and it was all coming from a singular source.

Acteon's eyes glanced around quickly until he spotted Harrier standing on the wall. A woman? Maybe. Could also be some kind of dead thing pretending to be a woman as well. He was a werewolf walking through the streets so why couldn't stranger things be possible? No matter what it was up there though, woman or undead, it was a clear the city's death had already been signed in blood. He didn't want to get caught up when that debt came due either.

Hurrying his steps back up, Acteon needed some kind of plan. What could get him out of the city without too much of a fuss and could hopefully get him something to make this trip worth it? An idea came to mind. Tents. There had been tents just on the edge of the horizon. No one else noticed them but none of them had enhanced eyesight either. He figured it was a large caravan or perhaps one of those nomadic tribes here to barter. Either way he could use it. So he went from hurrying to sprinting as fast as he could towards the palace.

========

Bursting into the throne room, Acteon was out of breath. He had vaguely bullied his way here by saying he had news for the Emir. His employer looked at him but before the obvious question could be asked Acteon went full forward into acting mode. "Emir Soleiman! An army is at your gates! You need to ready your defenses now!"

The room went into a frenzy. Acteon kept his serious, worried look as he waited. Army. Right. Bunch of merchants with coin and goods really. A few hushed words were spoken, which he could hear but paid little mind to. The general conversation was going in the direction he wanted without his intervention. Eventually orders to ready all their defenses on the outer walls was issued and Acteon was ordered to scout along with some of others on the fastest horses the Emir owned. He bowed and hurried off to fullfill his "duty." A slight smile slipped onto his face once his back was turned to the Emir. Now he just needed to ride that horse out of the city and not go back.

Gerra Uvogin Maecey Ashuanar Medja

 

[Medja]

“Very well, ignite the rebellion. Let Soleiman fall.”

Medja beamed. She bowed her head in respect to Gerra. She would soon have the satisfaction of watching the dominoes fall, and her lord would know the role she had in his triumph/
"As you wish, my lord." Medja stood, then alighted from her seat, excusing herself from the table.

The Hands of the God-Emperor began to pull the strings. Discreetly, she pulled a small pin with an emerald embedded in its center from within her bindings. She felt the pull of magic drain from her chest, minuscule an amount as it was, as she focused on the gem. The crystal made a quiet humming and began to glow a radiant green. Medja giggled to herself.

Elsewhere, throughout the city, two dozen or more identical pins began to hum and glow in harmony. Each of Medja's agents within had a job to do, and they had just received the signal to commence.

 

[Ashuanar]

He was frustrated... but bore it and bowed, "of course, my lord."

It wasn't as though he felt contempt for his Emperor's decision, or angered to follow him despite his desire. Yea, he only sought to posture the city into an accelerated submission, but even in this Gerra would know best. Perhaps where they were was indeed good enough.

But instead, there was this Medja. At first he wished to glare, the fires of his earnest desire to prove himself in battle subsided as the teachings of the priests echoed in his mind.

"...remember, Akrep. The stinger strikes when the most opportune moment arises. Your time will come..."
​

Perhaps this was simply not the time.

 

[Halul]

Uvogin's eyes darted between the others as they spoke. Following the conclusion of the war council, Uvogin dipped his head to Gerra.

"Please, excuse me." With that, the Captain backed out from the tent and met with one of Ava Gilleth's spies.

"Inform Mehmed to proceed."

"Yes, Captain." The young woman responded.

Salitra​

Several hours following the conclusion of Gerra's war council, the spy sent by Uvogin finally reached Mehmed. The mustered defenses of the outer walls made it a considerable task for the spy to enter, but Ava Gilleth's assets proved time and time again to be competent.

The young woman delivered a sequence of knocks against the cellar door. One of the other Immortals let her in.

Mehmed stood across from the cellar's entrance over a barrel with a map sprawled out over it and held a candle over the parchment. He looked up in anticipation of what the spy brought, though none could tell through the mask.

"Proceed as planned."

"Excellent," Mehmed pinched the lit wick, snuffing the flame, and gathered the map. He then looked at the rebel. "Move. Assault the targets we've discussed. The city guard and foreign soldiers have moved to the walls. The targets will be more exposed. Yalla!"

He clapped his hands, and the rebel leader scurried off.

Almost half an hour passed before the armed serfs, middle-class citizens, and even down-trodden merchants and noblemen filled the streets. Fires soon raged in sensitive parts of the city. Stables burned. Barracks burned. The three Immortals, in the span of weeks, had trained a surprisingly efficient mob.

Mehmed followed the rebels towards the palace while the two other Immortals snuck to Salitra's walls. Should the rebellion crumble, they would attempt to seize the gates to allow the Imperial Army access to the city.

 

[Maecey]

People never paid attention to her.

Most of the time that fact bothered Maecey. More than once she had ended up stabbing a man in the thigh because she'd insulted her height.

In a situation like this though it tended to work out rather well. A rebellion had sprung up, and now the rebels and the guards were starting to struggle against one another as thought there wasn't a massive army at their gates.

Maecey didn't really understand it, but she did understand that nobody paid any mind at all to a Halfling running around the streets.

Thus she was able to maneuver quickly through the streets, finding a low portion of the palace wall which sat next to some buildings. Quick as a mouse she scurried up the side-wall, pulling herself up over an awning and onto the roof top.

With a quick swipe over her arm she took a breath, glancing around, and then taking a running leap to jump over the walls.

 

[Acteon Cass]

The horses did not like Acteon at first. They could smell the blood and death and beast about him. But their jittery nature was blamed on the tension about the castle. He mounted, was given a spear, and then left with the scouting party of five. None of them had brought a bow or sling or any kind of weapon that might be aimed at a deserter's back. Perfect. The captain of the little group just barked orders along the way and soon enough they were out the gate.

Acteon never did bother to look back at the city. It was likely already in undead flames anyways. Necromancers were always up to no good and scheming to kill everyone around them if the stories were to be believed. He sort of did but also just didn't care about the fate of those inside at all. What was important to him right now was riding up on that camp and grabbed enough valuables to make this trip worth it before he headed home.

As the camp came into sight, Acteon narrowed his eyes a bit. He expected to see some people in armor, although not very well armed, but what he was met with was professional soldiers. Soldiers, war machines, and banners with an obvious symbol of some authority. Had he actually been right and there was an army at the city's gates? Well wasn't that just wonderful. He frowned a bit as he saw it. Next to him one of the local guards yelled out, "I know. Looks bad. Organized and ready to march already."

"Exactly." Acteon called back as his mind already began to adjust his plans. Well no merchants to rob but with an army like this at the gates of a city on the cusp of rebellion being guarded mainly by mercenaries would not be able to handle a siege. What good would a dead or dethroned ruler be when his pay came due? No, he had clearly made the right call to leave. Luckily he had information they might want to know.

Acteon pulled out a white cloth and tied it to his spear. Instead of holding the spear into a thrusting postion, he held it up high and let the wind ripple its pure innocence as he spurred his horse to go as fast as it could. The other riders were shocked when they saw this not knowing what he was up to. The captain realized first, and quicker than Acteon would have liked, and began to yell orders to cut the traitorous dog down. But it was of no use. He had enough of a head start and they had no weapons with the reach to touch him. He just focused on the army camp before him and figured his "companions" would either give up or die to their enemy.

It wasn't until Acteon was in arrow range and his pursuers almost were that the captain called them off. They turned and headed back towards the city as fast as they could. The reachman just let out a laugh and kept doing so. He was free of the city and hopefully soon he could earn some kind of reward before ditching this gods forsaken place.

As soon as Acteon was in ear shot of the soldiers he yelled out as he began to slow his steed down. "I COME BEARING VITAL INFORMATION FOR YOUR LEADERS!!!" He kept repeating it over and over and over again as he carefully approached them. Not once did he dare to let his spear tip drop from its high hoisted position in fear they might think he was making a suicidal charge. All he could hope for now was his gambit worked out.

Gerra Harrier Uvogin Ashuanar Medja Maecey

 

[Ashuanar]

Ashuanar was about the camp. In the hours following their briefing, the Vizier found himself in the throws of a turbulent predicament. His ego had been wounded. Gerra's decision to stay the army felt like the gentle ushering of a child's mother out of the cookery, off now to occupy yourself. Yes of course he trusted the Emperor without question, and felt only an unfortunate exclusion. The Emperor entrusted some of the other members of the court with tasks of vital importance with such confidence, and they carried them out brilliantly. But he…

He knew it had less so to do with him - the Army was an entity of its own he indeed had power over, but it also had a mind of its own which was no doubt the true reason for Gerra's reluctance to instigate them with a false advance. He had said so, so Ashuanar believed. But...

What if these are due to my failings? What if I am to blame...

He couldn't escape the thought... until another slowly crept in.

How is it one such as Medja can wield authority in such way? How does she possess such clout...

As he strode through the camp he looked out at the city. Modest plumes of smoke spiraled into the air, and an obvious unrest hung overhead. She and Uvogin had both done well. From the Immortal he expected no less, but from her, well he barely knew her and in truth did not expect such accomplished results.

"Vizier!"​

She is certainly far more than she appears to be. Perhaps she is even more worthy than I?

His thoughts seemed to dwell on her for a time, and before long he found himself seeking her out. It was a strange compulsion. He thought back to his first impressions of her during Vizier Jerik's match with the Minotaur, and how he may have misjudged her - terribly. So he would speak with her with blessings on a well orchestrated scheme in the name of the Empire.

He could not help but see her image in his mind as he sought her.

"Vizier!"​

How she moved with an intoxicating elegance, how her listless gaze cast out in a diligent and masked observation, piercing through whatever veil set itself before her. She was indeed a shrewd one.

Quite beautiful too...

He thought of the way she'd addressed Uvogin at the Emperor's veranda... and he felt a sting...?

"Vizier! My lord Ashuanar!"
​

...hm!?
​

"My lord, we have our first catch of the day. A deserter no less..." the Abtati soldier grinned, a glint of excitement in his eye.
​

A clear look of irritation was pasted upon his face at this news. He was oddly annoyed to be addressed on matters of such importance, but there was something apparently more important now on his mind.

"Bring them to me in the war-room, unharmed. And find Medja as well. I would have her present - perhaps they are one of her vassals come to deliver news of Soleiman's demise. Or better... perhaps the rebels call for aid."

The warrior nodded and turned to depart, somewhat disappointed he would be denied the chance of an interrogation but charged with the prospect of joining the conflict. He would do as instructed - detain the man and have him escorted to see the Vizier...politely. He dispatched another to go and inform Medja that her presence was requested.

 

[Achates]

How was it that this land remained in a constant quarrel? Peace was so fickle, and Achates wondered if that's what life was like beyond her mother's home. As the wind blew through the thick fur of the dire wolf, the elven girl inside warmed her heart with memories of her mother's homeland – her homeland. Freshwater, sweet fruit, and peace, it was all she knew for her childhood.

Achates found her memories invaded with a smell she had only come across a few times in her lifetime. The giant wolf shifted and stopped the advance she had been pushing since she had left her post. Taking in the faint scent, it became apparent to the hunter what laid ahead. A deep throaty snarl curled at her lips as she instantly knew what was ahead of her.

Death's stench filled the air, and the hunter quickly picked her prey. Meeting up with Gerra's forces was going to have to wait. Achates moved quickly, ducking into a place far enough to establish a safe distance. Paws shrank and fingers elongated, bones cracked, and groans of pain muted as her changing snout pressed into her arm. Shifting was something that never became easy, but Achates knew she needed to approach this with her human side for the beginning.

Why did it smell like death? Where was the scent? What danger was lurking for Gerra? No, Achates knew she needed to keep her attention here and not allow it to wander to him. Pushing the thought of the beloved man from her mind, she focused and dressed with one hand crossbow drawn she urged forward from the flank, allowing her vision of the woman leaning on a stave.

There was only the beach beside them, and she could smell death lingering, directing her somewhere. Small hairs on the back of the elven girl's neck stood as she moved closer with caution. "Who are you?" She shouted towards the figure. "It is dangerous here."

Harrier Uvogin Gerra Medja Maecey Ashuanar @whoeverIforgot <3

 

[Medja]

Within Salitra's walls the agents acted quickly, discreetly, and efficiently. The God-Emperor's Hands demanded no less. One by one the city's officers and organizers were silently eliminated. Misleading messages were sent to important posts and crucial streets were suddenly blocked. The seeds of discord had blossomed and the harvest was bountiful. Mehmed and his men would find their mission remarkably lacking in opposition.

"I COME BEARING VITAL INFORMATION FOR YOUR LEADERS!!!"

Back in camp, Medja had retreated to a corner of the war room to observe her plan come to fruition. Her emerald pendant began to receive return pings, each one signaling that an agent had successfully completed knocking over their respective domino. Her machinations proceeded flawlessly, as expected. No tolerance was held for incompetent subordinates in Medja's eyes.

Medja was lost in the glimmer of the pendant when she heard the familiar shuffle of imperial greaves approach the outside of the tent. Her eyes wandered to its entrance to spot a soldier entering, looking somewhat out of breath. Her curiosity grew as the man approached and addressed her.

"My lady...er, Mistress Medja. Lord Ashuanar wishes to speak with you at the outskirts of camp. It is an urgent matter."

This earned an intrigued raise of an eyebrow from the sorceress. Vizier Ashuanar had traditionally treated Medja with only scornful glares and silence. That he should suddenly wish to speak to her for any reason other than a direct order from the God-Emperor himself was farfetched at best.

"Yes, and?" She replied enthusiastically. The soldier squirmed under her gaze.

"...uh...a deserter has arrived. My lord wishes to know if he is one of your vassals."

She scowled.
"I should certainly hope not." That would mean that one of her agents had failed, which was wholly unacceptable. She sighed deeply.
"Very well...lead me to your lord."

The soldier nodded in affirmation, turned on his heel, and made his exit, floating adviser in tow.

 

[Harrier]

(source)​

The beach by Salitra's north wall was saltwater marsh, rocky and jagged. Seaweed and scum darkened Harrier's dress up to the knee. The simple fabric clung to her ankles and shins unhelpfully, making her rely on the possessed staff.

She squinted at the Elven girl. Then again, you never could tell with Elves: the girl might be twenty or two hundred. The hand crossbow got special attention.

"I'm Harrier Wren," she called over the rush of the surf behind her. "Thank you for telling me about the danger, but what danger are you talking about? Na-Gerra's army, or something else?"

 

[Acteon Cass]

Well Acteon's insane screaming worked. The soldiers recognized him as a deserter and began to treat him as such. He had to surrender his flag spear and his weapons, but it was all going well. It seemed they had some place in mind for him to go to and required he also hand over his mount. Acteon just patted the stolen thing as if he had owned it his whole life. A nervous snort was its response but the horse was too tired from the escape to do anything else. It clearly still didn't trust him and his beastly scent.

"Take care of my mount for me. I will be needing him soon I'm sure." Acteon said as he handed the reigns over and followed the soldiers he was suppose to.

========

Acteon knew a command tent when he saw one. After years of working for the Allirian Guard and as a sellsword, it was obvious that he was taken to one. He had a feeling it wasn't the command tent but he was also an uninvited guest that could still prove to be a potential enemy. He really might still be one. It was hard for him to say until he had or hadn't knifed someone in the back. Instead he focused on just sitting in his seat as he took everything in.

Still in his armor, Acteon tried to get a feel for things. Based on the sounds of the soldiers outside it was clear they were ready to engage, but something was stopping them. They had the needed resources to take the city from what little of their camp and army he had seen. Why would their leader not press the advantage and attack? If they wanted to starve the city out they were doing it wrong. They would need to encircle and blockade the thing if that was their goal, yet they had not. Curious play. Was there something else going on?

Acteon's mind raced as he just sat and waited. If not a prolonged siege, what was their goal here? The city was in a terrible state already and it was causing unrest.... Where they aware of the unrest? He straightened himself a bit in the chair. Assuming they knew about the unrest and state of the city it would have been the smartest idea to just encircle the city and let it run its natural course. It would be boring and a little taxing but it would cause the least amount of damage to the city and your own forces. But they had opted out and if they knew of the city state while doing that it meant they must have had something to do with it.

The reachman began to rub his chin as a wolfish grin crossed his face. Acteon began to wonder if this whole situation that lead to sellswords needing to be hired wasn't their doing to begin with. They sat right there by the city within marching distance yet not so close as to be a "threat" to the ruler. They didn't block off trade options which meant they needed those routes open for themselves. Maybe to smuggle in resources to rebels? It certainly would be the way he would suggest they go about it. If you aren't using trade routes then block them. Deny the enemy what they can use but you aren't after all. So assuming they were supporting and speeding up the rebellion, it would make sense to be close. They could "aid" the rebels if they began to fail and if they did succeed then just being close to help would make them look all the better to their new allies.

Acteon wanted to laugh as he sat back and relaxed in his seat. Whomever started this little game in the city was doing a wonderful job. There were some parts he didn't think they counted on, such as the mercenaries and the necromancer, but it was honestly playing out in the direction they wanted. The only problem was that if he was beginning to see the picture then what about the Emir? The fact he hired sellswords with a condition of survival to be paid and a necromancer at the same time was troubling. Perhaps the ruler was more aware of what moves his opponent was playing than he let on. Perhaps he wasn't as worried about lives being lost so long as his life was still safe. With the current pieces the Emir had, Acteon could see a very bad turn for the army who's camp he was currently in coming to pass.

That wolfish grin returned. Acteon might have a stronger stance than he thought right now if all of this speculating was true.

Medja Ashuanar

 

[Ashuanar]

Ashuanar arrived at the tent. Indeed, it was not Gerra's primary war tent - but an auxiliary placed nearer the front line of the stationed army. Inside were several soldiers, as well as the alleged deserter. Entering with Ashuanar were six other of his personal contingent - warriors from the Tribe of Mari'kuul. He and they appeared near identical, each dressed in white cloth with their faces covered.

He quickly scanned to room to find that Medja had not arrived yet, to his... disappointment. He briefly looked about in obvious distraction before advancing to address their captive.

"Your name, what is the meaning of this, speak."

There was an urgency to his voice. Not one of dismay or discomfort, but rather an almost dismissive tone. But his eyes were as sharp as needles and the bore down on the seated Acteon with intent, indeed interested if what the man had to offer him was of any use to him.

Medja Acteon Cass

 

[Medja]

The Vizier of the Imperial Army would not have to wait long. Escorted by the soldier that had retrieved her earlier, Medja entered the auxiliary tent, the slight rustling of the canvas the only audible sign that she had done so. Medja brushed past the Mari'kuul guards and sidled up next to who she assumed to be Ashuanar, given his position at the front of the men.
"Well, Vizier Ashuanar, you've caught my attention. What is it that we're..." She trailed off.

A man with long, pointed canines and amber eyes sat before the group. Medja quietly studied the man in chains who had been brought into camp. Definitely not one of hers. Something about him felt positively...wrong...predatory, almost.

"Your name, what is the meaning of this, speak."

"Yes, I'm curious as to who this mongrel is as well," Medja glared down at the man, her expression harsh and judgmental. She would not have her machinations unraveled by this dog. Now that Medja was in the room, Acteon's life was most certainly not safe.
"And speak quickly. My time is far more precious than your life."

 

[Achates]

Stepping forward, Achates could feel the crunch of the sediment from the beach, mixing with that of the land farther from the shore. The sound itself was exciting, and the girl kept her keen senses open to hearing for anything that could creep upon them. Each footstep moved closer and quiet as she kept her gaze locked onto the woman who introduced herself.

Remaining calm, Achates answered. "I'm Achates Fey." Again, another step forward, "It's not only the army of the God-Emperor but the defending city." Achates stopped moving forward and kept the distance between them. "There's something else lurking here," Achates paused, not knowing if she should delve into what she could smell that most humans couldn't. "Death, the dead are here somewhere."

She sounded crazy, raving about the dead somewhere when they were nowhere visible. "I can take you somewhere safe," Achates spoke with a calm tone as she beckoned towards the woman standing in front of her.

Harrier

 

[Harrier]

"I appreciate the thought, but how can you know anywhere around here is safe if nobody's won the battle yet? The God-Emperor, as you call him, might purge this city - or Emir Soleiman might throw it back in his teeth all across the countryside. So far as I can tell, the safest place for me to be is right here where I can step out if necessary."

She gestured and an undead whale slid above the water a hundred yards offshore. Surf sloshed through clean old bones.

"My boat, you could say. A relic of fighting Vel Anir. No matter how today unfolds, Achates, I'm not political. I'm mercenary, not committed. You understand what I'm telling you?"