<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">Soluunar</span></span><br/><br/><br/><span style="color: #808000">“You wished to see me, Lord Captain?”</span><br/><br/>“Yes. I requested your presence at dawn, so you are at least several hours late.”<br/><br/>Keln grunted, nodding piously as the heavyset man scribbled illegibly on the sheet of paper laid out on the table in front of him. It was remarkable, actually - he didn’t think Lannit Paran even knew how to read, let alone write.<span style="color: #808000">“You know me, sir. Always keeping myself busy. Idle hands are wasted hands, as my Da used to say.”</span><br/><br/>“He was a pickpocket, was he not?”<br/><br/><span style="color: #808000">“The man didn’t waste his hands, that’s a certainty. What did you require of me?”</span><br/><br/>Paran looked up at him, demonstrating the full prominence of his massive, beaky nose. He looked like a particularly ugly bird of prey, if a bird of prey could look both bald and unintelligent, anyway. “I have been informed of your desire to serve in the King’s company.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #808000">“Yes sir. There can be no greater honor than to directly carry out the wishes of His Highness. I believe I can truly make a difference with that assignment,”</span>Keln said, his eyes shining with what he believed to be a convincing light.<span style="color: #808000">“I hope to reclaim the honor I have lost through my connection with House Garth.” </span><br/><br/>“I see.”<br/><br/>The man’s voice was about as monotone as could be achieved by a human being, and the lack of inflection made it clear how he felt about Keln’s assurances. The knight pursed his lips, irritated but unwilling to reveal as much. Paran was no genius, but it would be best to stay on his good side. Particularly if he was going to be reporting to him during his time with the king’s company.<span style="color: #808000">“I was pleased to hear about your promotion, Lord Captain. Most deserved.”</span><br/><br/>“A hook-nosed puppet that somehow lacks the brains necessary to be an effective puppet,” the man replied without looking up from his scribblings, to which he had returned with great zeal.<br/><br/><span style="color: #808000">“What?”</span><br/><br/>“That is what you said about me when I was promoted, Sasek.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #808000">“Ah.”</span><br/><br/>The silence that followed then, broken only by the sounds of the quill scratching across the page, seemed to last for several lifetimes. Keln shifted, his anger rising again as the man continued his blatant power-play. Call a person to you and then make them wait - a novice level tactic if he’d ever seen one. Paran had a lot to learn about being an officer. He could also use several lessons in not being ugly, as well.<br/><br/><span style="color: #808000">“If you don’t need me here anymore, I’ll be going,”</span>he snapped, but when he was right at the tent flaps the man’s voice rang out.<br/><br/>“You were not dismissed, Sasek.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #808000">“Then stop wasting my time,”</span>he snarled, approaching the table with quick strides.<span style="color: #808000">“You wanted me here, and I’m here! So say what you intended to!”</span><br/><br/>The King’s representative within the camp smiled, as he sat back and watched him. “Still have a temper, I see,” he pronounced, his writing abandoned at long last. “You should watch how you address a superior officer, Sasek. We attribute great value to protocol in the King’s company.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #808000">“I am sincerely apologetic, sir,”</span>Keln replied, this time not bothering to appear sincere. It was pointless, just as it would be pointless for anyone to expect Paran to remember how to breathe. The man was stupider than a bag of particularly stupid nails. Ugly, too.<br/><br/>“Right. Anyway, His Majesty predicted that you would choose to join with us. In fact, he told me that I would be having this exact conversation with you.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #808000"><span style="font-style: italic">And I bet he told you everything you needed to do and say, you brainless pawn.</span></span><br/><br/><span style="color: #808000">“King Sahir is an insightful man, sir. He knew my options would be limited in the wake of-”</span><br/><br/>“He knew you would seek to join his men in the hopes of blending in. He believed that you would be furious about Lord Garth’s fate, and that you would then take your first opportunity at becoming a problem, for him and for this army as a whole. He told me you and your lackeys would all opt for the same assignment, given that you would have more room to spread out. He also gave me some advice on how to deal with this,” the man finished, with hints of great amusement now evident in his tone.<br/><br/>Keln felt a knot forming in the pit of his stomach, but he remained impassive as the futility of his plan was made clear to him.<span style="color: #808000">“I don’t understand any of this. We are all merely trying to do what is best for Lebidan, and we believe our services would be-”</span><br/><br/>“There is no ‘we’, Sasek. Your conspirators have been broken up into separate details spanning the length of this army, aside from Fenn Hewten.<span style="font-style: italic">He</span>has been tasked with helping to clear the remnants of corpses from the battlefield, as the crows have become a nuisance. An assignment befitting a man of his… quality.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #808000">”How dare you! Sir Fenn Hewten is an honorable man!” </span><br/><br/>“He has been accused of fornicating with animals.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #808000">“Those claims are unfounded!”</span><br/><br/>“He also has a history of violence, particularly against women.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #808000">“Only when he’s drun-” </span><br/><br/>“Hewten’s fate is irrelevant, Sasek, as you have your own appointment to worry about. Beginning tomorrow morning you will be assisting<span style="font-style: italic">me</span>, and I expect you to report here at the crack of dawn, and not a moment later. I require nothing but crisp punctuality from my staff, but I believe you’ll find this to be a rewarding exp-”<br/><br/><span style="color: #808000">“I <span style="font-style: italic">beg your pardon</span>? Assisting you? What mockery is this?”</span><br/><br/>“You will be given tasks that can help me in the running of this company. Mainly, you’ll be working in supply inventory, but you may also find yourself handling the occasional message delivery, if your services are needed in that regard. But fear not,” he appended, an infuriating smile now firmly plastered on his face, “for there is still glory to be had. You will also be fighting as a member of my personal retinue during combat. It is the King’s desire that you serve Lebidan in this manner.”<br/><br/>Keln felt a vein throbbing in his temple as a buzzing sound gradually filled his ears.<span style="color: #808000">“You can’t be serious.” </span><br/><br/>“You know, I was of the opinion that no amount of skill with a sword could make a man like you worth the trouble. I would never try to cross blades with you, Sasek, but that is the one and only area in which you do not fall short. You have no sense of morality or honor, and you remain a stain upon the great nation for which we fight. But His Royal Majesty insisted that I do what I can to avoid losing a valuable soldier to the gallows. You are dismissed.”<br/><br/>Keln, whose entire body was trembling with barely suppressed rage, moved to the exit, where he stopped. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, but every fiber of his being demanded that he do something about what was happening. This was beyond a mere insult, and to top it off, all of his plans had been crushed before they could even begin. Sahir’s cunning knew no bounds, but for the King to use Paran, who he knew Keln despised, was another level entirely.<br/><br/>“Garth is still hanging at Highborn Rock, you know. Give me a reason, Sasek,” Paran growled, “give me a reason, and I will make sure you join him. Now get out. I must meet with Commander Krinwulf and I will not be delayed by your insolence.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #808000"><span style="font-style: italic">I will shove my blade down your throat and make you shit three feet of steel.</span></span><br/><br/><span style="color: #808000">“Yes, sir.”</span><br/><br/>He left the tent, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly his fingers shook, and made his way in the direction of the nearest bottle. If he failed to drown his rage soon, morning or not, there was no telling what would happen. Sahir had a viper in his camp, and instead of killing it he had only made it even angrier - he would pay for this, and dearly.<br/><br/>“Do you have a moment, Sir Knight?”<br/><br/>Keln’s answering snarl should have frightened off anyone within twenty feet of him, but the old man didn’t even blink. He was gaunt, with sunken cheeks and long hair that was more grey than black. He was wearing faded black robes, and at his side hung an old sword with a tarnished silver hilt. Unimpressive as his appearance was, his eyes were glittering with a shrewd light the Lebi couldn’t ignore.<br/><br/>“I seem to have caught you at a bad time. But I assure you, if we speak for but a moment, your mood will improve greatly, Sir Keln Sasek.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #808000">“You look familiar. Aren’t you…”</span><br/><br/>“I am Paetar Krinwulf, the last King of Linden,” the man said, as a smile appeared on his face that looked much more dangerous than regal.<br/><br/>”And I have an offer you won’t be able to refuse.”<br/><br/><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">Environmental Post</span></div></span><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><br/><br/><span style="font-size: 112%; line-height: 116%;">If the surface of Soluunar could voice its pain, it would have groaned beneath the foul, heavy feet of the group marching north from the darkness of the Ravine. Crude boots, blackened with soot, tarnished by congealed blood and heavy wear pressed into the ground, leaving large, deformed prints in the wake of Roumjain’s group. Heavy, bestial breaths, sighs that were more like snarls and the sound of fangs sliding impatiently over rough, curved tusks permeated the path they forged, but the weary squad was nearing its destination. The Tutari warriors hadn’t rested much since departing their ashen home, but they were not weighed down as they normally would’ve been. They carried no weapons in their clawed hands; instead, each of them held a single pole, sturdy but light, with a length of fluttering fabric at its end. <br/><br/>The tremendous specimen leading the small pack lacked intelligence in his eyes, but the lust for blood that had been firmly grounded within his race shone with prominence as the chieftain growled loudly. Roumjain held up a hand, and the clattering, scraping armor of those behind him slowed as the group’s sprint turned into a jog, and then a walk. The time had come for their task, although their knowledge of what was to come was lacking in every regard. The massive Tutar in the lead also understood little of what he was there for, but the promise of blood and destruction had lent its strength to his orders. He would not fail, not when plunder and savage slaughter awaited him. <br/><br/>And glory as well, for he would rise up as the greatest of the chieftains, boosted to new heights by the power of the All Knowing Flame. </span><br/><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">Soluunar</span></span><br/><br/><br/>The sword’s hilt was bereft of decoration, looking about as simple as they came. It had seen countless uses, from the beginning of the Tutari War and even before that, when Linden’s enemies were human and the wars were for borders and land, not the survival of mortal man. But whatever the stakes, whatever the foes it faced, the hilt and the blade endured. Ever ready for the next battle, the sword endured.<br/><br/>Barth grasped it, wrapping his fingers firmly around the handle before loosening them again, feeling the worn material beneath the calluses of his hands. It was an ancient weapon, but it was not a Krinwulf sword. No, it had once belonged to Olin, and his father before him. Olin, ever the romantic, had never settled down, and had no children to pass the weapon on to - as far as he knew, anyway. In any case, it was Barth who had taken up the man’s sword when he fell, swearing to wield it with the same fearlessness personified by its previous owner.<br/><span style="color: #FFFF00"><br/>“You laughed with me, you joked with me, and when I needed it, you gave me the advice no one else would think to offer. You were harsh, even cold when you had to be. But you were also my friend,”</span>Barth said softly, drawing the longsword a foot out of its sheathe to expose a segment of gleaming steel.<span style="color: #FFFF00">“I miss you, Olin. But your weapon continues to slay the foes that overwhelmed you,”</span>he added, pushing it back into the scabbard as he sat forward, hearing approaching footsteps.<span style="color: #FFFF00">“Just as you continue to live on. Watch over me, my friend, and enjoy your new company. Verana stands beside you. I know it,”</span>he whispered, and then he was rising from his chair to greet Lannit Paran.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">“Lord Captain, it is good-” </span><br/><br/>He paused, frowning as he recognized the sweaty face of the man currently panting at him from the tent’s entry. It was Gahrin, one of the younger members of the Lindenian branch of the Allied army. “Prince Barth, the perimeter scouts have reported a group of Tutar approaching from the south!”<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">“How big?”</span>he asked, the sword fully unsheathed as he moved briskly past the man into the camp, where the morning sunlight had given everything a radiant orange glow; it took him just a moment to see that there was already activity in every direction. It felt like he was striding along in the midst of an ants nest that had been disturbed, but his mind was curiously blank as he headed straight for the camp’s boundaries.<br/><br/>“A very small group, sir. They also seem to be unarmed.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">“Impossible,” </span>Barth barked, but the man shook his head, now taking quick steps to keep up with him.<br/><br/>“Seliniya seemed sure of herself, my Prince, and those with her confirmed it.”<br/><br/>He didn’t respond, as by now they’d reached the outskirts of the camp where a large crowd had gathered. It seemed that everyone in the camp with even the faintest awareness of the situation had surfaced, clearly expecting the worst.<span style="color: #FFFF00">“Form up!”</span>Barth shouted, and order swept over the confused jumble as ranks materialized, seemingly out of thin air. Most of them weren’t even properly equipped for battle, and there were pink cheeks and bleary eyes that made it clear many drinks had been consumed the night before, but they were ready. An older gentleman was clutching a broken wine bottle with a dangerous gleam in his eye that made Barth feel a new appreciation for the valor of the hungover as he moved past. He spotted familiar faces waiting for him at the forefront, and he hastened his steps as his sense of urgency deepened.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">“Lord Gaius.” </span><br/><br/>“Commander,” grunted the serious, bearded immortal with the staff, who had summoned countless tornadoes for them during the previous battle. “The Skyknights have surveyed the approaching unit from above.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">“Anything to report?”</span><br/><br/>“The Tutar come bearing white flags and nothing else. There are no weapons in sight.”<br/><br/>Once again, Barth’s mind played host to disbelief as he looked from the God to the tall men in the winged helms behind him. There was no doubting their word - if not for them, the last battle would have ended with Soluunar covered by a blanketing of mortal corpses. At the same time, what Gaius spoke of was…<span style="font-style: italic">inconceivable</span>.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">“Tutar don’t surrender. I’ve never seen it, nor have I ever heard of such a thing,” </span>he said, his eyes finding Ausan as Haman and several others reached the camp’s perimeter.<span style="color: #FFFF00">“But it’s clear, what must be done. I will speak with them.” </span><br/><br/>“I'll accompany you,” Haman started, but Barth shook his head.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">“No, Haman, I would have you remain here. If they have indeed come to treat with us, then I would not appear aggressive towards them. A small party will do, and nothing <span style="font-style: italic">about</span> you is small, my friend.” <br/></span><br/>“It could be a trap! You will need-”<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">“If there was an ambush lying in wait, would your Demigods have seen it from their vantage point?”</span>Barth cut in, staring at Gaius. The man nodded solemnly, looking as neutral as he ever did, but Haman bristled, clearly not convinced.<span style="color: #FFFF00">“The entire allied army stands here, with Gods and steel, and the group approaching is small and unarmed. You will remain here, Haman,” </span>Barth added firmly, placing Olin’s sword into one of his massive palms.<span style="color: #FFFF00">“And hold onto this for me.” <br/></span><br/>Seeing that further argument was pointless, the big man pursed his lips bitterly and stood in silence as Barth nodded towards Ausan and a few others standing among those in front. A small group would be best, and while he quickly selected just a few, a couple others came forward as well, eager to stand with him as he moved to what could very well be the first parley ever attempted with the Tutar. He nodded again, accepting their company, and then he walked forward towards the massive figures in the distance, who had finally stopped. They waited with unexpected stillness and patience, but Barth found himself unable to shake away a certain nagging feeling, one that he couldn’t identify or explain.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">“Rune’s hand guide us,”</span>he whispered.