A Volume of Trial

[GloriaPreussens 798]

The Aeldinic Trial

An OOC foreword:

The following is by no means to be taken into IC, as there is no way such information could be found through legitimate means save from Yoppl or myself. This is a joint effort between us to be written in chapters to give a good reading material. That said, we hope you enjoy our work and the chapters to come. For convenience, each Chapter shall be placed in a spoiler on this front page, and when a new one is released an update notification will be made in the comments.

 

 

 

 

Personae

Frederick Augustus - Prince of Pruvia, of the House of Horen-Preussen

Henry - Lord of Balain and Caer Ostwick, of the House of Horen-Balain

Maverick Macdonough - Young Sellsword in the employ of Henry and Frederick

Jakob Jrent - Often known as the 'Bastard Prince,' the last surviving son of Emperor John II Sigismund

 

Introduction

 

Spoiler

 

White sails and the smell of salt on worn planks. A ship broke azure green waves, a small crew of men stood upon the deck, working before the helmsman called out, ‘Lo! Port ahead!’ The men stirred at the news, many rushing forward to look onward in glee, a city finer than any they’d seen or would see lie almost in reach, just an hour off or so. They’d set with a renewed vigor as the ship’s benefactor’s emerged from the cabin, speaking in quiet conversation, gaze turning to the ever closer port. Prince Frederick, a strapping young lordling risen quick to power in the realms of Man back in their homeland, beside him was a mysterious and vibrant figure known to the group as Lord Henry. Beside the two always was the aging Jakob Jrent, and the optimistic Maverick Macdonough, stalwart and fast companions all, growing close over their long journey to Aeldin.

 

Docking within the ports of Nova Horos, capital of the Aeldinic Empire, both Frederick and Henry were quick to set off into the city, trusting Maverick and Jakob with the wellbeing of the crew and the purchase of supplies and steeds for a very long journey. It would be a long while, many hours of wandering the winding streets of Nova Horos, a city paved with the finest cut stones, shops selling goods from all over the world, and dizzyingly high buildings, it was a city out of legends, standing there for the foreigners to explore.

 

Upon the setting of the sun, both Frederick and Henry did return to the harbour and their vessel, Maverick and Jakob both procuring supplies for the company, a good dozen men, and horses for the four. As the two Lords got close the horses would appear to go mad, being forced to be taken off as the benefactor’s of the journey laid low for the band their mission; a fugitive was loose and it was up to them to act with complete discretion to apprehend the man, a dangerous criminal of possible magical background. While the hired men were neither most skilled, nor the most loyal, they weren’t green to this work, and had been paid well enough that they’d march around the whole continent if they needed to, and were promised twice as much on completion. Satisfied, the group would rent out a tavern’s worth of rooms for the party, intent to set off upon first light. . .

 

 

Chapter I

 

Spoiler

 

“You know, I really hate ridin’ in the morning,” grumbled Jakob, the elderly warrior, still as fit as a strapping young knight, bouncing atop his barrel chested horse, earning a snicker from Maverick, and a curious glance from Henry. They’d been a month and a half out of the Capital and seen little more than a fishing village and few merchants on the road, not even a bandit for excitement, and it showed. The party trudged along, looking about lazily, sighs of discontent a common occurrence. Both the Lords gave a knowing look, they’d need to do something soon or morale was doomed to plummet, and their muscle would find other work.

 

However, it would appear their peril was over, or at least postponed, with the sight of a town on the horizon, a city in fact, but everything seemed a town in comparison to the beauty of the capital. Riding into range of the gates within a few short hours, the band’s morale picked up at the prospect of more than what seemed an eternal trot over infinite scenery of green and fields, bisected by an equally infinite pathway from destination to destination. A stop would be nice, besides, they were running low on good wine and here was a good enough place as any to get some more, and a fine place for the men to relieve some of their more carnal desires, they were only men after all, whose desire to breed was greater than any other creature in the known world.

 

As the party crossed the bridge and passed under the gate into the city marked in faded script on signs as Leuvaarden, they were taken aback at the. . . Normality of it, especially considering their departure from the gleaming capital, this was beyond shocking. Worn streets and beggars sat on them, the faint odor of something foul struck nostril when the wind passed, and the band was all too quickly reminded of the cities of Axios they were so familiar with.

 

Begrudgingly, they made way to the nearest tavern, locals giving sidelong looks and whispers, making it clear outsiders were neither wanted or welcome, merely tolerated. The inside of the tavern fared no different from the streets for the band, watered down ale and stiff beds, just like home, maybe a little better if one was optimistic. The band set off to try and talk with locals, or spend coin, while the Lords Henry and Frederick set off into the streets, leaving Maverick and Jakob to themselves at a dingy corner table, nursing poor pints and poking at worse food, it was Jakob who finally spoke up, “Wha’d they offer ya,” the old man questioned bluntly, not bothering to make smalltalk, Maverick taken aback a moment would retort, “The usual, a chest of gold, adventure, and a bond not found anywhere else,” a smart reply with a sly smirk followed the commoner’s words, earning him a simple, “Idiot,” from Jakob, who finished his pint. With a furrowed brow, Maverick would take quick offense, “Well what did they offer you, a quick death away from disappointed grandchildren, hmm?”

“More than you’d know,”

“What kind of answer is that, eh? C’mon, spill it!”

“Don’t start, boy,” the elderly Knight would growl, earning a laugh from the whippish Maverick, “Start what, putting down an old man?”

“Last warning, don’t,” Jakob would look up, going to lean back some in his chair, dead serious in his tone of voice, though it was ignored or overlooked by the younger of the two, shaking his head he pushed himself out of his chair, “Old fool, all you are,” he’d mutter, stalking off without paying tab, despite the swears and curses of the barmaid, casting daggers at Jakob, who shrugged in apology, forking off some coins and a hefty tip, likewise moving off, this was going to be a damn long journey.

 

-

 

Tensions between Maverick and Jakob didn’t settle in the coming days, despite the efforts of Henry and Frederick to force them to mend their petty dispute, Jakob would extend a hand only to have it spit upon, literally. Not an ideal situation, it was worn poorly by the band, to see their leaders infighting, but there was no time for delay, and both Frederick and Henry urged the band onward down the road, leaving Leuvaarden behind, and thankfully too, no doubt any time spent in excess would only leave scars from the sharp daggers protruding from the gaze of the locals.

It was worth noting however that the scenery changed, and thank GOD for it too, an utterance among so many of the band when they saw the coast coming into view of their right, leaving a bit of a cooler climate for the company as well. A week again on the road, though it would seem the further south they went, the more wild it came, some of the soldiers even whispered they saw figures in the trees at night, and hear the giggling of fey creatures in their dreams, dismissed offhand as imagination of course, though the doubts still remained. It was the third week out of Leuvaarden when the wild imaginations of the men were proven true.

 

Whooping and hollering woke the camp in a mess, the whooshing of riders circling the camp. One of the men grabbed his sword, ripping the steel from the sheathe, and taking an arrow to the throat, dropping his blade and grasping as he sunk to his knees, choking on his own blood before collapsing in a puddle. Panicked and frozen, the men looked wide eyes, another arrow pierced the eye of a grizzled veteran, Lord Henry shouting out, “Take your hands off your ***** and grabs your damn steel,” as he drew his own, the Prince Frederick already in motion, turning in time for an arrow to graze his sleeve, his longsword’s edge lashing out at the legs of one of the steeds, sending the horse toppling over, the rider falling face-first, a sickening ‘snap’ was heard as his neck snapped.

 

The party suddenly lept into action, grabbing sword and shields in a rush to hastily defend themselves, Jakob letting out a throaty bellow and throwing a spear through the gut of one of the assailants, to then draw his arming sword and send a series of precise strikes into the riders whose tactics changed, instead of circling, with a series of whoops and shrieks, they decided to charge at uncertain times, earning the ire of Maverick, who threw a hand axe meant for lumber through to the forehead of a rider. A short and brisk combat, it only lasted a handful of minutes before the riders left, screaming and chanting, leaving the party with four dead, and covered in blood. Striding over with purpose, Jakob would turn one of the bodies over, spitting to the side, pointing out to the party with gritted teeth, his words spoken as a curse more than a matter of fact, “Elves.”

 

Packing quickly the band set off, stripping their dead and leaving them, Henry and Frederick seemed urgent to get on, though it wasn’t fear that drove them, something else Maverick couldn’t place, at least not yet. The company was remiss to leave their comrades, but to risk another attack in greater number was too great of a cost, and they needed to move now, making all due haste South, marching day and night, stopping only to eat and catch a few hours sleep.

 

-

 

Two weeks past the attack, the party’s pace slowed but only just enough, they had no idea if Elves still roamed here but no chance ought to be had. The road would finally end, a great bridge lie, an ancient one older than anything they’d seen so far was before they, yet of immaculate construction. Beautiful stones hewn to perfect angles and decorated with figures from legends whose substance was forgotten, and just beyond lay a fortress in a ringed city, signed worn like the last, but with freshly painted letters marked it as ‘Dol Varen,’ capital of the Imperial Province of Varendoz, and perhaps a place to lay in peace for a few days, and get some information on what lay on the road ahead.

 

A day’s ride was before the weary band before they entered the city of Dol Varen, more like the capital than Leuvaarden, cleaner with folk about the streets talking happily, and bright colors of fabric fluttering from clotheslines, colored signs advertized shops and children ran free. Henry hated it, that was clear on his face, lip curled in obvious distaste, a constant scowl about his features. Turning to Jakob, and Maverick, he’d mutter to them, ‘Board the horses and get the men whatever they need, we will return,” not leaving room for a response, the Lord would nod to Frederick and the two dismounted and strode off quickly into the crowds.

 

Jakob and Maverick walked silently to their destinations, though the former didn’t seem to mind, Maverick would cast daggers at him, spiteful still, letting his emotions grow worse over the weeks, only made worse that men he’d grown fond of were now dead without ceremony, no objection to leaving their corpses by Jakob. The sellsword would seem to find every reason he could to hate the old Knight, not realizing how petty he came off, his mind wandered to wondering what Henry and Frederick were doing about now.

 

-

 

Walking deftly and with purpose, two figures in cloaks moved silently in the crowds and between alleyways, keeping close, yet not next to each other. Discretion was vital, especially in unknown territory where your prey could very well be right under your nose, stalking you, and making you the quarry. Back in Leuvaarden, they’d gotten word the fugitive, a man named Havart aep Touron, stolen from Benda Chivay’s treasury and murdered a score of civilians. That was the official line for hunting if questioned, though he was in truth the leader of a rival coven, why Benda couldn’t go after Havart himself, the Stirga had done nothing in violation of the Laws.

 

Somehow Havart knew he was being hunted, it’s how he escaped the slaughter of his own coven, and why Frederick and Henry were contacted, foreigners with no ties here. The risk for doing this was high, the potential to be branded Athema by Striga, but Benda offered a cure for Frederick’s mortal son who suffered each day., making the choice obvious for him and Henry both, blood looked out for blood after all.

 

Closing in on a house in the poor districts of the city, Henry and Frederick drew daggers from their cloaks, slipping inside through an open window on the second floor and moving slowly, a figure bent over a desk, candle burning, the smell of open ink and parchment, Henry’s hand darted forth to pull the figure back, Frederick thrust his dagger into the throat of Havart, an arc of crimson jetting forth onto him, but something was wrong, the body didn’t struggle, in fact it felt stiff.

 

Looking at the face, Henry swore, they’d been duped, a mortal long dead cast as a double, the scent masked from them, and of course they wouldn’t have been able to sniff Havart out together, not while both carried the scent he did as well. Throwing the body down, Henry stalked off as Frederick shook his head, gritting his teeth at feeling so stupid. They’d have to keep hunting, this trip was turning out to be longer than they’d anticipated. . .

 

-

 

Jakob nurses his pint, reading an old worn book, bound in leather across the tavern from Maverick, sitting in the corner with a few of the soldiers accompanying them, though he paid no mind to their conversation, still brooding on his apparent hate for the old Knight, standing up finally, having worked himself up, the old bastard needed to be put down, he’d embarrassed Maverick and that couldn’t stand, a couple of the troops looked at him quizzically, frowning, one calling after him, but the young sellsword ignored them, pacing to Jakob, shouting to him, “Hey! You old sunuvabitch,” he’d follow it with a few more curses, the elderly knight only looking up over the edge of his book, lowering it slowly and speaking in a low tone, “Yes, Maverick, do you need something?”

 

The nerve, how dare he pretend there was nothing wrong, the old man had wronged Maverick and pretended like he’d done nothing? That won’t stand, fuming at the lack of a reaction, the young mercenary would kicked over Jakob’s table, earning gasps and a shout from the patrons and silence, as the elderly warrior marked his page and slowly shut his book, setting it aside and standing, pursing his lips, a sigh and a quiet, “Come on then, outside,” he’d wave an apology to innkeeper before leading Maverick and a crowd outside to the back.

 

A circle formed around the two, Maverick dropping into a boxer’s stance, dancing on his feet, the old man, wizened and sharp as a hawk yet making no move, simply standing, nodding to his rival, wordless, Maverick shouted and lunged at Jakob, a strike to his jaw went true before suddenly red, he was in the dirt on his stomach, the knight looking down, “You’ll need to try harder than that,” a whisper of a smile formed on his lips as he stepped back, the young hothead pushing himself up with gritted teeth, he’d killed men before, this old man wouldn’t get the better of him, “I’ll put you down old man,” he’d cry, snarling and lunging forward with the intent to tackle Jakob, again, red and pain, he would himself being pushed back into the circle by the crowd who sneered and called out wordlessly, the young man shook his head in time to see a few men in armor push back the crowd into the circle, barking orders, one went to shackle Maverick before Jakob stepped in, though the words were without substance he appeared to argue with the peacekeepers, he could only hear a dull ringing, he tried to crawl away quickly. Maverick didn’t see until it was too late, he’d been spotted trying to escape, steel was drawn and sent to his neck.

 

Suddenly, in a flash of movement, as the guard went to draw steel on Maverick, Jakob drew his own, sending a long blade at the guard’s breastplate, then shoving him back, red running down the steel of his armor, a few of the soldiers accompanying the band lept into action, restraining the guardsmen as Jakob gathered up Maverick and hurried him off, the mercenaries of their band subduing the guards and likewise rushing off, calling out to their comrades to hurry up. It was all chance they’d run into Frederick and Henry, being briefed quickly, the latter swore, clearly already in a foul mood, and the band rushed quickly out of the city south, it was two days before they were no longer chased.

 

-

 

Three months. It has been three long, hard months in the heat of the southern lands, marching as they’d rushed out of Dol Varen, barely time to grab their gear and no time to replenish food and water or hire replacements. Thankfully they seemed to have gotten out free, and were able to trade with passing merchants and in villages, but they’d reached a low and morale was bleak. They’d been here less than a year and lost half their men, been chased out of a city, nearly starved, and now marched in blistering heat, in an alien land, with the only knowledge of their direction being to the South, in the orient realms.

 

On their path South they’d been attacked twice by brigands, and lost three more, over half their troops gone, and even still they weren’t buried, just left and stripped of gear, finally the men had enough. One, a bruiser called out, causing Henry to turn in his saddle, the entire party stopping as he dismounted, everyone clearing a way for the two, the bigger man, named Hors, he smelled of ale and carried a nasty axe into combat, not a hair on his head but the finest blue eyes that sparkled bright, and a set of teeth and a smile to make women drop their dress in a moment.

 

Henry stood a head shorter, but was confident, moving with a grace that couldn’t be taught, an air of authority no man can be born with. Sword about his waist, the Lord would speak in a tone that bordered on the sinister threat, though remained as soft as satin sheets, “Dear Hors, I hope this is important,” he’d say with a mock smile, one that could pass as sincere, but Hors would not be intimidated, he’d grunt, “We’re done, we wan’ our money an’ we’re leavin’ simple as that,”

“Oh? Well I can’t imagine that’s fair to us.”

“No, but losin’ friends ain’t fair either.”

“Part of the job, you all knew the risk, Hors.”

“Not anymore, ‘enry,” Hors would finish, pulling his axe free from it’s saddle, making his intention known, the men of the band moving behind him, opposite of Frederick who quickly drew steel, his jaw locked grim, Henry who smiled, hands behind his back, Maverick who backed away a few steps, and Jakob, sword and shield in hand.

 

Henry would shake his head and chuckle, “I’m afraid you’ll have to take it from us then,” a tone that implied welcome to the prospect of shedding blood of such lecherous men, and he barely got to finish his sentence before Hors swung his axe at Henry, the Lord barely moved out of the way in time, Jakob catching it on the backswing his shield and discarding it, the Prince Frederick lept forward with a snarl, sinking his blade into the armored traitors with more ease than most might. Maverick watched, his eyes going wide as his mouth went agape, screaming to for them to stop, but it fell on deaf ears, the skirmish already too far gone. The young sellsword wasn’t able to comprehend what was happening as his once-comrade thrust a spear to his gut, time slowed to near nothing as he saw what ought to be his death.

 

Jakob Jrent lept forward, with a roar, battering aside the spear and running his blade through the mercenary, saving Maverick who stuttering out a reply, unable to find words, the old knight would grunt, “Save it and fight,” before launching back into the combat, the young sellsword taking heed and with sorrow, began to defend his comrades against his former-comrades, the four killed until they were all that was left.

 

Breathing heavily, both Henry and Frederick would seem urgent in their actions, wiping their blades of blood quickly, demanding they set off, there was a town up ahead, Haas, and they needed to go. Off putting to Maverick at their urgency, their desire- no, their need to depart, he saw what just happened and knew speaking out right now was not best, for now, they needed to keep going, it was either march to Haas or die.

 

 

[Paleo 298]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.