The Order Marches

[Xarkly 17299]

The Vaeyl Order camp at the border of the Yatl Wasteland and the Haensetian Sleetfells

 

As Lord Arcanist Haevolt, Commander of the Vaeyl Order's Fourth Banner, strode through the sea of tents, a thousand thoughts raced through his mind. The southerly wind had picked up and send the Vaeyl banners streaming from their flagpoles like black-white flames, but Haevolt did not feel the deathly chill it carried. If there was one thing he missed of the times before he swore his Oath and became the being teethering between life and undeath he now was, it was the feel of the mundane; the unruly breath of the wind, the kiss of a winter's night and the embrace of a summer's day. Now he, like the rest of the Order, felt only the strongest of sensations - which, inconveniently, seemed to be exclusively pain. He missed sitting by a fire and eating too, but as he looked between the vast expanse of old canvas tents he could still see fires ringed by his comrades in their black-and-white painted bronze plate. They did not needed neither heat nor food, Haevolt knew, but they took comfort in it nonetheless. Haevolt could understand that; there was a certain loneliness to immortality. 

 

Though the occasional Orderman bowed his head to Haevolt and muttered a greeting as the Lord Arcanist passed, the mood in the camp was largely a sour one. The dull din of chatter was almost muted by the whistle of the wind and the infrequent roar of a Cold Bear as a Rider of the First Banner prepared for battle. Haevolt knew that the poor mood was in part his fault; it was his plan that had led to the deaths of Darkhos and Charo, commanders of the First and Third Banner, though they did not know that -- nor did they know that their deaths had been necessary for the overall success of the Order's attack on the northern invaders. Despite his resolve, he still felt ... doubt eat away at the back of his mind. It was something he had not felt in a long time -- certainly not since he had taken his Oath and joined the Order. As Haevolt approached top of the camp, where the speared palisades rose to overlook the Wick Woods and the Sleetfells, he felt as if that doubt was growing. Sucking in a steeling breath, he gripped the banner of the rickety wooden staircase and climbed to the top of the walls.

 

When Haevolt found just two figures clad in white and black overlooking the land to the north, his eyes instinctively searched for the two missing Commanders before a painful pang of guilt in his chest reminded the Lord Arcanist that Darkhos and Charo were dead -- truly dead, this time, and beyond the aide of the Oathstone. He joined their silent vigil, and took his place at the duo's side and stared to the north. It was serenely peaceful from up here, he noticed: the pines of the Wick Woods swayed softly in the chilling wind beneath a deep blue sky dappled with arrays of bright stars that flooded the world with a silvery light and made the distant lakes and rivers shimmer like molten silver. The roars of Cold Bears echoed through the night as Riders patrolled the borders of their camp that were so recently breached, and those roars were carried by the wind as it swept through the swathes of forest land, prompting the trees to sigh and sing melodically.

 

"After all these decades," Haevolt found himself muttering despite himself, "it still looks beautiful." For a moment, the Lord Arcanist thought no one would respond, before the figure with the plumed helmet, to Haevolt's far right, stirred.

 

"It will be more beautiful still when it is freed of invaders," came Lord Marshal Serris' jagged voice. Though a woman, the Order had long since abandoned bias towards woman when Serris proved herself capable at commanding men than most, and she wore the title of Lord Marshal well. "We should have listened to Darkhos. We should have advanced long before now."

 

"We would be with Darkhos and Charo in the next world if we had," Haevolt said cautiously. He knew Serris could be especially volatile on the subject of Darkhos -- especially since his true death at the hands of the Haensetians. 

 

"That would be better than cowering from behind wooden walls while we wait for them to move!" Serris rounded on him, the black-white plume of her helmet billowing in a sudden gust of wind. "I would rather be destroyed with Darkhos and Charo rather than have left them to die! We will fight these invaders with a weakened army now!"

 

Haevolt swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew that if Serris ever discovered that it was through his strategies that had allowed the Haensetians to kill Lord Executioner Charo and Lord Champion Darkhos, she would destroy the Oathstone herself if it meant revenge on him. "We will triumph, Serris," he tried to assure her, in the most gentle voice he could muster. "This is our land. For hundreds of years, it has been our land. No invaders, no 'Haense' can usurp that right. We will face them, and we will win." 

 

"If they-" Serris began, but Haevolt quickly interjected.

 

"If not for the defense of our home, then for Darkhos and Charo," he intoned, and the Lord Marshal immediately fell silent. That silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity to Haevolt as he, Serris and their silent third companion stared out amongst the land that they once called home, and would again once the invaders had been rooted from their city.

 

"For Darkhos ... and Charo ..." Serris breathed through his plumed helmet. Suddenly, she slammed a fist against the edge of the wooden wall, which made a viscous cracking sound as Serris' gauntlet struck it. "It isn't fair!" Her voice sounded like a mix of despair and enraged frustration. "They came to our home, they invaded our land, and they stole our artefact! What gives them that right?!"

 

At the mention of the Oathstone, Haevolt's eyes slid to the their silent, third companion who stood in the middle of he and Serris. The smooth, golden gemstone stuck out from his sheathed sword that was belted to his side. Haevolt had petitioned insistently to have the Oathstone removed from the sword the Invader King Otto, but the Grandmaster seemed to like the idea that the source of their power rested in the pommel of his own weapon. With a wistful sigh, Haevolt looked back out towards the starry night. "It is not right," he muttered. "And that is why the invaders will be punished. Once we finish our strategy, we will finish constructing our defensive perimeter, and -" 

 

"No," came a smooth, deep voice from the middle figure.

 

Haevolt blinked in surprise. "I beg your pardon, Grandmaster?" 

 

"We will wait no longer," the Grandmaster said as he kept the visor of his winged helmet focused on the horizon. "The Order marches."

 

While Serris seemed to mute a silent cheer, Haevolt's brow shot up. "B-but Grandmaster, my lord," he began, but the Grandmaster had already turned to descend from the walls. "We cannot just rush north! We must have a plan, a strategy!" 

 

"We do have one," the Grandmaster replied indifferently as his black cloak whipped and snapped in the wind as he mounted the stairs.

 

"And what strategy would that be?" Haevolt demanded as unwelcome irritation crept into his voice. "I don't recall."

 

The Grandmaster paused, and fixed him with a level stare. Suddenly, the wind seemed to die down, and an eerie silence befell the camp.

 

"We're going to kill them all."

_____________________________________________________

 

The Royal Army of Haense & Allies march to meet the Vaeyl Order in battle tomorrow at 2PM EST/7PM GMT in the climax of the ongoing eventline. Rally in the Haensetian capital of Markev at 1PM EST/6PM GMT to participate.

 

[Icarnus 1669]

Leofric sharpens his blade vehemently

[HurferDurfer1 2978]

Coltaine works tirelessly through the wee hours of the night, preparing an arsenal of cantrips and spells, eager to stretch his legs, to let loose with his sorcery  in a way he had not done in many years. He was steadfast in his belief that Haense would not yield a single step on the morrow,  no Waste Creature would be left standing.

[adamc2000 1385]

After news been sent to Anwar Ibn Faheem he would feel anger in his heart "they dare march against Heanse and her people!? Thats it for now on I will be known as Anwar the Farfolk volunteer!" he march off to the Heanse royal army to enlist

 

 

[chaotikal 2392]

A traveller perks up from within the tavern in Haense.

 

"Who?"

[Remziel 54]

Rythel would be filling his quiver with arrows in preparation to aid Haense in downing undead scum. As are all other Rivian soldiers as they prepare to march north to Markev at a moment's notice.

[ibraheemc2000 2965]

 

The Grand Imam Stand before the tribe and the Janissaries soldiers "My brothers and sisters!" He raises his hand "The Men of Haense are Under Attack ..." he looks to the Janissaries and the grouping "Allah has told us that 'they are of those who harm mankind' Then it is a true Jihad...This is indeed the case for these brave men...BY ALLAH! This is a Jihad!" he nods in agreement with himself "The People of Haense Came to our aid in Haria many times! To fight akangi and his army...To help us Defend in raids! Gave us food in a famine! Without them, Many would have died! My brothers and sisters! RISE! RISE TO JIHAD! We march to the support of Haense!" he says raising his old fist "Mayterdem OR VICTORY!" he shouts The crowd begins shouting 'martyrdom Or victory!'

---------------------------------------------

Ibraheem Aladeen Rises to the Call Of Jihad and sharpens his shamshir and puts onto his armor, A warm smile on his face as he sings with his fellow janissaries as they prepare to march out

♪"One God, Grand Imam, Faiz

At least see to

Love the greatness of your destiny

Please do not make me cry

Supplication to the poles of Jihad and Truth

The world is a lie, what can we do?

We die and fill this longing

Show this face

One God, Grand Imam, Faiz

At least see to

Love the greatness of your destiny

Please do not make me cry

Supplication to the poles of Jihad and Truth

The world is a lie, what can we do?

We die and fill this longing

Show this face

We cry and feel sad

Creep with the dream of love

They looked like paradise

Peak beauty for me"♪

[Publius 4098]

A craftsman eyes nearby mountain, imaginative... 

 

“If we had a bulwark so far south,” Said the man in Markev, looking to his fellow soldiers. “Perhaps we would not need to worry for some time!”

[ThumperJack 927]

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.