<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">Soluunar</span></span><br/><br/>Barth took another swig from the bottle and set it down heavily on the table; the impact of glass against wood was punctuated by a cracking sound, but the Lindenian ignored the trickle of ale that began working its way out from the base of the bottle as he picked it up once again. The next gulp was much longer than the last, but it didn't drain what remained of the bottle's contents. Once it was done he had a few more he'd been given by some of the others, though he meant to take a break before continuing, as he had something he needed to do. Two Sisters, quiet and solemn, had brought him a bottle, and Resuran another, a pale, strange ale from the highlands of his nation; the Lord Knight, well, the Knight, now, he hadn't tarried long, but the women remained in the tent until Barth sent them away. They shared in his pain, even if what wounded him surpassed anything they could possibly be experiencing.<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-size: 110%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-style: italic"><br/>Linden's fallen heroes, respectfully liberated of their arms and armor, laying in ranks as if marching once again into battle together; Barth felt the heat wash over his face as the pyres were lit, and as he stared down at the motionless form of Verana he became aware of a vast emptiness within him, spreading through his body and mind, and becoming all that he knew. <br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Rune's hand guide you,"</span> he whispered, as the flames reached the covered bodies and engulfed them; the longbow burned bright, as if fed by some unseen source of power, and the wind picked up, speeding the progress of the fires that escorted the forms of the Lindenian dead from the living world. <span style="color: #FFFF00">"Forget the torment. You shall live on."</span> <br/><br/>The Lebis buried their fallen, of which there were many, but once the ashes of their own were scattered by the winds wielded by the grim, bearded God, each of Barth's countrymen arrayed themselves before the Lebi resting place, kneeling with a fist pressed against their chests. Some were buried with their weapons, their titles and ranks called out, honoring them as Knights and the like, but regardless of rank or distinction, the dead were shown a solemn respect from those who'd fought alongside them. </span></span><br/><br/><br/>Barth shook himself, forgetting the scene for the moment as he stared down into his own lap and grasped the item laying there; he didn't need to look over to know that Haman was nearby, waiting in case he was needed.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Bring me Sen the Sister." </span><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><div style="text-align: center;">-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-</div></span><br/><br/>The newest addition to the Sisters’ ranks absently drew little circles around the gelding’s ears with her fingertips, murmuring some soothing nonsense. It was a good distraction; when her senses weren’t being calmed by the animals, all she could see was - she gave her head a little shake, unbraided strands fluttering around her face. The nightmares could wait.<br/><br/>Haman was fairly easy to spot once he breeched a diameter of about fifty meters. For one, he stood more than a couple heads taller than the tallest man in the camps, and had the bulk to match that height. For another, the blonde woman’s legs started to tingle whenever he came too close, from about the knees down. She figured it was something like when older people complained about the ache in their joints, and how it usually meant a bad storm was brewing. Thankfully, he was also fairly easy to avoid, probably because he was never looking for her. Sen was more than happy to keep their relationship in this neutral range.<br/><br/>So when she accidentally made visual contact -eye to eyes- with the giant man over the withers of the gelding, ducking back behind the creature’s thick shoulder was just instinct. Surely he would just move along. He usually did, right? Sen was sure he didn’t even really recognize her. Why would he? Unless she was in trouble, of course.<br/><br/>She hazarded a peek over the horse’s back, fingers tightly entangled in mane. He was closer, and still staring at her. A rush of words that would have scorched the ground around her feet had they came from her lips raced across her mind. She was in trouble. She had absolutely screwed something up, and bad. He was coming to take her into the woods, just like that would-be deserter she had almost shishkabob’d.<br/><br/>“Sen,” he called, no more than a few paces away, his shadow almost touching her, “come with me.”<br/><br/>Was ‘no thank you’ an acceptable answer? Probably not. Her knees were not tingling now, so much as throbbing in anticipation of the smashing they were undoubtedly about to receive. With all the grace and motivation of a criminal on their way to a torturous execution, she heaved a great sigh and stepped around the front of the gelding, approaching Haman with the customary resigned expression and half-dragged feet. If he thought it odd or unnecessary, he kept his opinion to himself- Sen took that to mean her melodrama was necessary, and her suspicions correct.<br/><br/>He picked up the pace quickly once she was in tow, however, and she found herself just short of jogging to keep up. She never thought she’d be in such a literal demonstration of the phrase ‘racing to the gallows’. Their speed brought them to the destination quickly; the Prince Commander’s quarters. Well, she assumed they were, just based on observations and half-grasped snatches of conversation. They were going to give her a formal sentencing, then, just like the one with the deserter, when he and Verana had –<br/><br/>A familiar noose of emotions tightened around her throat at the thought, and Haman stuck his head into the tent. He withdrew and nodded to her, then followed her in as she swished past the flap. Prince Krinwulf sat inside, and while she hardly expected him to be overjoyed at this moment, the grimness of his expression made her hesitate for a split-second before taking a few more steps in the dim interior.<br/><br/>She had been taught how to approach royalty or those of standing, the correct phrases to say and how to be polite and formal. Somehow, though, none of what she had been taught fit this situation. She remained silent, answering his summons with only her presence.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><div style="text-align: center;">-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-</div></span><br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Sen. The battle is over, and now you stand before me. You survived." </span><br/><br/>There was uncertainty on her face and in the way she stood, and Barth found himself remembering their first meeting. The recollection brought forth a pang, but he stifled it as he took note of the difference between the Lebi noblewoman posing as a groom he'd encountered back then, compared to the soldier he was regarding now. It was night and day, even with only a short time passing between the two sightings. She'd changed a great deal, very quickly.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Verana spent much of her final days in your company," </span>he said quietly, noting the way speaking the fallen Maiden's name seemed to make the pain worse,<span style="color: #FFFF00">"and she took great pride in her work with you. She often spoke of your progress, and although she was careful not to inflate your ego as you trained, she told me privately that she held great admiration for you. The way you were able to leave your old life behind, the way you fought, pushing yourself every step of the way… she looked upon you when you were a scared, timid little girl, and she saw the warrior within." </span><br/><br/>He glanced down into his lap and stood up, hefting a sharp, sturdy knife with a long blade that turned white in the moment it caught the candle's glow. The hilt, carved from smooth, white stone, was bright beneath his fingers. He looked down at the weapon in silence for a moment, before looking back into Sen's mismatched eyes.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"You lived, when she did not. Not only that, but you also saved my life - yes, I have not forgotten that, Sen. I am indebted to you."</span>He smiled, and a great wave of sadness washed over him as he fought to retain his composure.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"Verana would be very proud, to see you now. To see what has become of her student, the first Lebi Sister. And that leads me to why I've summoned you."</span><br/><br/>He closed the distance remaining between them and extended the hilt of the knife.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"For years, Verana Snowblade wielded this weapon with grace and prowess. It was her namesake, and now it is a symbol of her legacy. And you, as the last person she ever trained, will carry on that legacy. I want you to have this weapon, Sen. Use it, and remember her."<br/></span><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><div style="text-align: center;">-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-</div></span><br/><br/>For a moment, Sen merely stared at the hilt of the proffered blade, her face strangely unreadable in the shadows of the tent. In front of her, the memory of a long, freckled arm gone too recently to be called a ghost, reached forward from where she stood and grasped the short blade with the confidence and ease of ownership. The ivory hilt seemed to glow with a light all its own, but still Sen thought she could see the ever-so-slightly worn spots, the areas gently faded beneath the natural oils of Verana’s own hands. Pale grey and sunset pink pools of open skepticism turned back up to meet the Prince’s gaze, but she still didn’t say anything; there was something that needed to be said, but Sen was very sure words could not convey it. As her stare turned back to the weapon, a hard sheen of determination solidified over her face.<br/><br/>It didn’t feel like she wasn’t moving, but her arm extended smoothly. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, as though the handle had recently been removed from open flame, just before her palm touched the hilt and her fingers closed around it. It fit her hand well. She could feel the swells and dips of the ivory settle comfortably into those of her hand, and she lifted it slowly from the Prince-Commander’s grasp. It was heavy. Not so heavy that it couldn’t be wielded quickly, but heavy enough to know the quality. To know the value. She drew the blade closer to her face, eyes lingering over every inch of the strangely pale metal.<br/><br/>Suddenly she turned back to Barth, eyes wide with emotion, and lurched forward to throw her arms around his neck.<br/><br/>Sen squeezed her eyes shut and her arms in a tight embrace, all traces of reserves vanished as though they had never been instilled into her. In a whisper that would have been inaudible had her face not been pressed into the bend of his collar, she muttered,<span style="color: #80BFBF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“I <span style="font-style: italic">promise</span> that I will be worthy of this.”</span></span><br/><br/>Another beat passed, and then in one fluid motion, she released him, turned and vanished from the tent.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><div style="text-align: center;">-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-</div></span><br/><br/>Barth was surprised by the hug, but after a momentary widening of his eyes he put an arm around the Sister and gave her a light squeeze as she made her whispered promise to him. The knife was more than a means of remembering her mentor - it was motivation, something to remind her of how much she'd accomplished, and how much more there was to do. There was a fire in Sen, and when the flitting shadows of her own doubts and hesitations were cast aside he could see it, burning with a ferocity that told him the woman's journey was far from over. He knew Sen the Sister would indeed prove herself to be worthy of Verana's namesake.<br/><br/>When she left the tent he sighed, still smiling, although there was new sadness in it as he headed back to the table. It wasn't long before he resumed his drinking, and not too long after that Haman entered the tent. For some reason the huge man looked oddly hesitant.<br/><br/>Barth looked up into his lone eye, his own narrowed curiously.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"What is it?" </span><br/><br/>"There's someone here to see you. The Heart Guard Captain. The redhead with the mouth like a genocide. I can send her away if you l-"<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"No, that won't be necessary."</span><br/><br/>It was not an unexpected visit, as he knew it was merely a matter of time before the Heart Guard's leader found her way into his hearing. She did not seem the type to sit on her emotions, not when she was so outraged by an occurrence, and it made sense that she would go to him. What happened fell squarely on his shoulders, as although Ausan had performed the act, it was his decision to allow it. The timing could've been better, but he wasn't going to put off the confrontation.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Send her in." </span><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><div style="text-align: center;">-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-</div></span><br/><br/>To say that Daria was angry would have been the greatest understatement since the Creator brought Soluunar into being. In fact she was so angry that she had breezed through the normal symptoms of rage and had come through to hit serenity from the other side. It was like being in a trance, like the void of battle, like oil burning on the surface of water. The rage was dulled by a calculating edge. She had a point to make, with words if she could. If not, then fists might have to do.<br/><br/>The tent flap was all that stood between her and the object of her ire, the so-called Prince-Commander, Barth Krinwulf. That thin flap of canvas prevented her from actually seeing what was going on inside, save for a small sliver through which she could just about see the boots of the man named Haman, Krinwulf's eyepatch wearing personal thug, as he notified his lord of her presence.<br/><br/>She shifted her stance, shrugging her hips to settle the plates of the armour on her lower half that she had yet to remove as compared to the pristine white shirt she had pulled on earlier, with it's sleeves rolled to the elbow. Businesslike? No, not at all. She didn't have time for first impressions now.<br/><br/>Haman stepped back out, sweeping the canvas aside with his tree trunk of an arm. He didn't say a word but instead jerked his head towards the interior, a clear motion for her to enter. Once more unto the breach.<br/><br/>Krinwulf's living space was spartan. She had expected slightly more than what was present, but it made sense given his reputation. It was almost as bare as her own accommodations. But then she had an aversion to having too much stuff. The man himself was sitting in a chair, drinking. What exactly it was she had no clue, but the fact that he was partaking at all irked her. Not that she needed any more reason to hate him as of this moment.<br/><br/>"You bastard." The words cut through the air with all the force of her hidden anger. She had only spoken them as if in a normal conversation, but it felt as if she had screamed them.<br/><br/>"I expected more from you. I expected you to be firm, yet fair. I expected you to everything a good officer should be. Instead I fight one battle at your side and am treated to a third hand account of how you presided over the death of a man at the hands of one of your closest soldiers in what amounts to a revenge killing." Barth still hadn't moved, still as a stone. She hoped it was because of shock.<br/><br/>"I have seen some serious travesties of military justice in the past, but this tops them all. I saw ten men hanged for a crime that thirty different witnesses say they didn't commit. But this is beyond that. This was not justice. It was murder. It was vengeance of the sort I would expect from a manchild, not the commander of all Allied forces on Soluunar." She felt the rage building, threatening to spill over. Despite her best efforts, a slight burr crept back into her voice.<br/><br/>"You allowed that absolute failure of a soldier to be burned to death in front of dozens of others. You stood by and did nothing when your second set fire to a man and discarded every part of human dignity remaining to her. The simple fact of it is that you fucked up. You have lost my respect, the respect of my men, made more enemies amongst the Lords and even caused some of your own to question you. And for what? So you could feel as if you were getting something back? You disgust me. I have not the patience or the empathy to pity you." She stared at him, a hard glare that drilled into his eyes. The prince simply took another drink.<br/><br/>"Have you anything to say for yourself, Prince-Commander? Or shall I take my lances and ride north again, to await death on our own terms once more?"<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><div style="text-align: center;">-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-</div></span><br/><br/>Barth let the tirade wash over him as he continued drinking; when he finally regarded the woman, he had to blink several times to get her back into focus. Her hair reminded him a little of Verana's. He had to look away for a moment, focusing intently on his own boots, before taking the deep breath he needed to clear his mind of the same thoughts that plagued it since the funeral.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Daria," </span>he said softly,<span style="color: #FFFF00">"I knew from the moment I saw you that we were different. Just as it was with the Lebis. We are all born of this world, and yet, we come from different worlds, so terribly isolated from one another, not just in how we live, but in the things we face."</span><br/><br/>He rose from his chair and moved haltingly to the table on which sat his last remaining bottle. He picked up a small circle of metal from a wooden corner, a random piece of armor, or even a plate - he had no idea what it was or how it got there, but when he glared down at it he could vaguely make out his own reflection in its tarnished depths.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Victory at all costs. Anything to survive. It got us this far… but… I don't think it will take us much farther. Not if we want to avoid turning into the same… into the same monsters we fight. For some of us… for some, it may already be too late, Daria. When I look in a mirror, sometimes, I don't even know what I see staring back at me." <br/></span><br/>He looked back at her, all the fight gone from him; he wondered if she'd been hoping for an argument, something to vent out against. If that was the case she was going to be sorely disappointed.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"We have been on an island for too long. Alone, against our foes. The Heart Guard, Lebidan, you had your own battles to fight, and the Ravine was not yet a concern. I understand that. I will not bemoan the lack of support we received; what's done is done. But we weren't only left alone to fight. We were left alone… to change. On our own, we became what we needed to become. We became what was necessary, and the change enveloped us all, until it in itself became impossible to see. When I saw the faces of your people, of the Lebis, even those who support me, when Borim burned, for the first time I realized how far we have fallen." <br/></span><br/>He didn't know why he was telling her these things. He never spoke so openly with anyone that wasn't Ausan or Verana, and even with them he'd never voiced these concerns. Perhaps it was the drink, or the loss of Verana, or maybe it was the fact that when he strode away from what remained of Borim Garth's charred corpse, he felt as if the wrong person had been burned.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"You are wrong to say that some of my own question me, and therein lies the problem. My people would follow me into the abyss, you know. They have watched me pull them back from the brink of death more times than can be counted, and they love me for it. Their loyalty is absolute. They don't question. They don't accuse. And that… that terrifies me." <br/></span><br/>He blinked and saw Verana standing in front of him - he wondered why she'd be dressed in such a fashion, before the events of the day returned to him with all the subtlety of a warhammer. He mouthed the name, but didn't utter it as he shook himself, remembering what he'd been saying before the vision interrupted him.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"If I lead them wrong, they will all die. If I make a mistake, everyone will suffer for it. For years, my word was the only word. I took counsel with others, yes, but the tides changed when I took over Linden's army, and everyone knew it. And they followed suit; my every strategy, my every policy, taken on without question. Ausan, Verana, Olin… many others who live on in the Void and beyond, they chimed in, and perhaps they swayed me in one way or another, but in the end we became a single voice, unified and without conflict or doubt. None of my own would speak to me as you have, none of them would call me out on what happened, would call me to account in such a fashion, and yet you have come here and done just that. And that is why…" <br/></span><br/>He walked over to her, his own eyes boring into hers as he put an hand on each of her shoulders.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"That is why I would prefer to keep you close. Things are different now, and I cannot lead an army of this size as if it is the same one I was entrusted with all those years ago. I know how to command once the steel is drawn, I know how to navigate the field against these foes of ours, but in many other regards I have much to learn. I need a voice that is willing to speak its mind, willing to tell me I'm wrong, willing to show me the other side, the side a person from my fallen nation could never see. Of course, if you truly believe I am unfit to lead, then by all means go. I cannot make you stay. But I… I would prefer it if you did." <br/></span><br/>He wobbled slightly and turned, returning to the table, which he leaned on; he kept his eyes on Daria, as for a change his focus wasn't on getting himself another drink.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"We won a victory, but it is more a brief respite than anything else. We have seen only the smallest fraction of what waits in the Ravine. A force beyond anything I have faced, anything any of us has faced, is yet to come, and we have to be ready when it does. We need to stand together. If the black tide surges forth and we aren't united… even with the Gods on our side, we may as well slay ourselves right where we stand." <br/></span><br/>There was a soft ripping sound, and Barth had just enough time to turn around before a blade came flashing towards his neck. He jerked his head back, feeling the bite of the steel as it grazed his skin, and he raised a hand in time to seize an elbow before the second man's knife could impale him from the right.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"I wouldn't blame you, you know," </span>he slurred, even as a third man entered the tent through the slit they'd created,<span style="color: #FFFF00"> "the next-" </span><br/><br/>The unarmed and unarmored Prince ducked under a thrust from the first attacker and punched him between the legs (an old favorite of Ausan's) before getting struck in the side of the head by something solid, perhaps a gauntlet. Idly, he saw that all three of the men wore the garb of the Heart Guard.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"The next Commander might be more to your liking,"</span>he whispered as he fell back, both hands now on the elbow of the arm that trembled with bloodlust as the knife inched closer to his throat. It reminded him of when he'd been saved by Sen, although back then it had been a Tutar, and this time there was a third participant that was about to join the fray. He wondered if Daria knew, and then a moment later he realized he didn't care.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"All things must end." </span><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><div style="text-align: center;">-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-</div></span><br/><br/>It all happened so fast. One moment she was talking with Prince-Commander Barth, leader of the Allied armies. The next she was spectating three of her own hammering him into the dirt in the middle of his own tent. It was quite interesting to watch. The hero himself struggled for a moment, focussing entirely on the bare blade aimed at his throat. Understandable. The real threat was the others. Lance-Corporal Kaldwin landed a nasty strike with his guantleted fist, just in front of the temple and over the eye. After that, it was simply a matter of finishing the job.<br/><br/>Calm returned to the sparse tent again. The Prince's body lay in the newly churned patch of mud where he had struggled for his life. A trickle of blood snaked it's way down from his nose and joined the healthier river of it issuing from his split forehead. He looked rather pitiful. Daria stepped over as quietly as the rasping of the plate armour on her lower half would allow, squatting down next to the supine Prince and gazing long and hard at his face. Had she done the right thing? She hesitated on this thought, turning it over in her mind, before nodding to the Lance-Sergeant in charge of this little team, a man by the name of Garvin, permitting him to continue his work.<br/><br/>There was nothing for her to do here, so she stepped out of the canvas enclosure and back into the evening air. The Lindenian guards were unconscious, taken by surprise and subdued as fast as possible. Haman was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the distraction had worked after all. She had commanded some of her own to goad Lindenians and try to start fights, to draw their officers away from the one area of camp where they might be most disruptful to her plans. She hoped that was what had drawn him away.<br/><br/>The way that Barth had acted during their brief talk disturbed her. He had been drunk, or very close to it, that much was obvious. About half way through she had been convinced he saw her as Verana, one of his Maidens who had died in the battle due to Lord Knight Borim's cowardice. He had called her by name, but she was convinced that he was just dealing poorly with his grief. And the request for counsel... that caught her off guard. He had some vision after all, to recognise the need for counter-thinking. But it was too little, too late. What he needed was someone to take action. Too late for that now, too.<br/><br/>The tent-flap rustled behind her as her lancers left, the two juniors supporting his weight across their shoulders. He was transformed. Dressed in sackcloth, suited only for those destined for the headsman's axe, with a bag over his head to conceal his features. Barth Krinwulf ceased to exist, replaced instead by a betrayer destined for death. All the easier to leave with him in tow. The Lance-Sergeant nodded in her direction.<br/><br/>"Prisoner ready to move, First." She waved her hand forward.<br/><br/>"Very good. Back to the lines Sergeant, double time if you will. The Company will be ready to depart within the hour and I do not wish to delay them any more than is strictly neccessary."<br/><br/>The trio and cargo set off a a light jog, dragging their unconscious prize with them. It was not going to gain her any friends, but it was neccessary. Barth needed to be elsewhere for now. The possibility remained that someone might follow them to Highborn Rock, but the place was defensible. She would deal with that bridge only if she was forced to take it. Not before. She idly kicked at the dirt as she mused on her actions and then disappeared into the darkening day.