Mori: A Reckoning in the North

[Xarkly 12765]

MORI'QUESSIR EVENTLINE

A RECKONING IN THE NORTH

 

Spoiler

 

 

In the light of the Fell Moon, Razvien of Clan Torath stood atop the frozen walls of Fenn.

 

“Tsch,” he hissed through grit teeth, and his breath seeped out in misty plumes. “How could it come to this?” Beneath his helmet of lacquered black plates, the Mori Legate surveyed the rolling snowscape beyond the walls. Two things disturbed the otherwise blissful darkness of the Full Moon - one was the ceaseless descending flurries of snow from the swathes of stormy clouds above, and the other was the tide of Srow banners billowing in the wind outside the city. 

 

“Lack of preparation, unfamiliar terrain, incompetence from the perimeter defence,” Khazen - Razvien’s right-hand officer - murmured wistfully at his side. “Take your pick, Legate.” 

 

“We are Clan Torath,” Razvien growled as he glared at the Descendant siege encampments in the snow below. “We do not fail to prepare; we do not allow the terrain to hinder us; we do not suffer from incompetence. It is …” The leather of Razvien’s gloves creaked as he balled a fist. I sound like a tantruming child, not a commanding Legate, he scolded himself. “ … it is not meant to be this way,” he finished, deflated. 

 

“... Many things are not how they are meant to be,” Khazen intoned solemnly. “All the same, Legate, the fault is mine. It was my duty to repel them from the city outskirts, and I failed.” 

 

Razvien’s head twitched back towards his lieutenant. With his helmet tucked under his arms, Khazen’s knot of white hair streamed in the wind, and his grizzled, scarred face wore a begrudging frown. When the Descendant army had broken through the mountain to lay siege to the Torathi legion in Fenn, Khazen had taken a mounted arachnid to repel them … and he had barely returned alive. 

 

“You … fought with valour,” Razvien murmured uncertainly as he panned back to the Descendant siege lines, and the snow gusted around him.

_______________

 

Sedda of Clan Torath took a knee.

 

He was a Legate, and so he was used to many eyes resting on him, but this was more than he was prepared for. What was once known as the ‘palace’ of Norland was lined with Torathi legionnaires in their black-lacquered mail, most sporting a trimming of gilt as a sign of rank. True to their Clan’s reputation, they stood rigidly alert, and spearmen of the Citadel Guard were posted at every doorway, window, and opening. Though they would not let so much as a rat sneak into the palace, but it all made Sedda roll his eyes. There’s not a rat who would dare sneak in here. 

 

Knelt at the top of the palace’s great hall, he kept his head bowed. In front of him, lining the throne, the Dreadknights of the Obsidian Infantry loomed over him with their gold-worked halberds and greatshields, and flanking the walls and pillars to the side of those Dreadknights stood a squadron of the Onyx Retinue in their winged helmets. Both the Obsidian Infantry and Onyx Retinue were the personal forces of the Matriarch of Clan Torath, but she hardly needed them to declare her presence. 

 

With his head bowed, Sedda could feel her eyes on his neck. The seconds since he knelt before the old Norlandic throne felt like an hour; Sedda was painfully aware of the sounds of soldiers breathing through their helmets, shifting their hands on their spears, and their footsteps from outside the great hall. Only the Obsidian Infantry were totally silent -- them, and the Matriarch. 

 

Finally, though, she spoke, and her voice shattered the silence like an arrow through glass. 

 

“I see and acknowledge you, Sedda of the Clan Torath, Legate of the Halfmoon Legion.” 

 

“As but a servant, I am duly honoured,” Sedda gave the ceremonial response. Naturally, his voice did not ring like the Matriarch’s, and he kept his eyes on the floor.

_______________

 

“Fought with valour?” Khazen snorted. “You forget yourself, Legate.”

 

Razvien firmed his jaw, and did not answer. He knew Khazen was right -- Clan Torath, the military backbone of the Mori’Quessir, had no regard for valour, only results. I am making excuses, and he knows it. What is becoming of me? Raziven opened a palm, and watching the snow fall between his fingers. It is not meant to be this way.

 

“... With your permission, Legate,” Khazen began again, “I wish to command the vanguard when the Srow assault the city walls.” 

 

Razvien cast him a surprised glance over his shoulder. “The vanguard? No. I will need you by my side in the command centre. Signifier Teryal will lead the vanguard, as planned.”

 

Khazen’s red eyes remained locked on the Descendant banners as he spoke. “I ask that you reconsider, Legate.” 

 

“Why? To redeem yourself?”

 

Khazen’s nod was stiff and slow. “I failed to drive them away from the city before. I will not fail again.” 

 

The frustration that had knotted Razvien’s stomach only moments ago had vanished, and in its place it left a faint inkling of fear. “You would likely die.”

_______________

 

“ … then, as a humble servant, you shall carry my will.”

 

The Matriarch’s words, smooth as steel, reverberated throughout the throne room. “I will, Great Matriarch, and serve as vessel for its fulfilment.” Get on with this farce. His head twitched in anticipation to look up at the Obsidian Infantry, the Onyx Retinue, and her. 

 

“Then hear me, noble vessel, and obey.” In the pause between her words, the northern wind whistled outside. “I say and declare that Razvien of the Clan Torath, Legate of the Tidal Legion, has been besieged by a Srow insurgency within the ruins of Fenn. I say and declare that it is my will, as Matriarch of the Clan Torath, that you, Sedda, my noble vessel, march with your Legion and a contingent of the Obsidian Infantry, will lift this siege. I say and declare that no Srow is to leave the lands of Fenn alive.” 

 

Well, fancy that, Razvien. Seems I’m to ride for your rescue! Sedda was glad his bowed head hid his smile. “As but a mere vessel, it shall be done.” I hope Razvien knows I am not dying for him. Not until he sees the truth, at least. 

 

“Make no mistake, Legate Sedda. You are to turn the snow red by the time you are done. The colour of their banners, and any pride with which they fly, is to be drowned out and forgotten in this slaughter.” 

 

“I hear and obey, Great Matriarch.” 

 

_______________

 

“If I do,” Khazen answered, “then is it atonement.” 

 

Razvien snorted. “Atonement for a failure that was not your own? It was no fault of yours that the Srow army overwhelmed the perimeter defence.” 

 

“It is a failure all the same.” He closed his eyes gently. “It is as you said, Legate. We are Clan Torath. We do not bicker and divide like the other Great Clans - we are one, and the failure of one is the failure of our Clan.” 

 

Razvien’s glare was not for the Descendants, now, but for Khazen. “You speak above your station, Optio.” He felt cruel saying so; Khazen was an older Mori than Razvien, but he had always been content in his rank. When the Matriarch had thought to honour him with a legion of his own, Khazen had refused, and the Matriarch had taken offence - never again had he been offered a promotion. Although Razvien still struggled to understand Khazen’s reasons, he had been more than happy to keep the Mori as his premier officer. Without him, where would I be? Dead to slave insurgents at the Drowning of Zhafris? Slain beneath a tide of Clan Ghrazi arrows at the Siege of Yhend? Vanquished in these very snowfields? 

 

“Perhaps I do. If you think I speak untrue, Legate, then strike me where I stand.” 

 

Razvien’s eyes shot open, and his heart drummed. Those words were far too close to what Legate Sedda had said when they had spoken last, in these ruins. 

_______________

 

“Make no mistake.” Each of the Matriarch’s words was a hammer on nails. “Our foe are Srow, Legate Sedda. They are less than slaves.”

 

“I hear and obey, Great Matriarch.” You disappoint me, Great Matriarch. Your legions may be victorious so far, but we fight and die to fight these Srow you call less than slaves. 

 

“Our foe are Srow; surface-dwellers, thieves of our birthright, and contenders of our forebear Zanunder’s legacy.” 

 

“I hear and obey, Great Matriarch.” You speak as if we are still in the Underdark, Great Matriarch. You speak as if the Srow we fight are the same fairytale we supped on as children … the same debased savages, incapable of little more than bloodshed for bloodshed’s sake … the same pitiful fools who would welcome our enlightenment … 

 

“Legate Razvien has allowed the Srow to bring humiliation unto him, and unto our Clan.” 

 

Great Matriarch … I see now. If you truly believe all you say - or if you do speak for the sake of appearances …

_______________ 

 

I could simply refuse his request.

 

For all the whistle of the wind around them and the sounds of his Legion preparing for a siege, Razvien and Khazen stood in silence. I could refuse him, and command him to stand safely by my side in command. Khazen’s eyes remained closed, and Razvien’s glare remained fixed on him. It could be as simple as that. 

 

He opened his mouth to give the order, but then closed it wordlessly. 

 

That would make me no better than Sedda … questioning our very way of life.  Our Clan.

_______________

 

“I will not tolerate a second offence to our Clan, Legate.”

 

“And I will not allow one, Great Matriarch.” Would that I could take my Legion, Great Matriarch … and shove it where the Fell Moon does not shine. 

 

“Go on, then, Legate Sedda - cull each one of them.”

_______________

 

“ … Go on, then, Optio Khazen,” Razvien grunted half-heartedly at last. “Redeem yourself, and our Clan.”

 

_______________

 

Sedda donned a gracious smile, and pressed a fist to his heart.

_______________

 

Khazen’s eyes flittered open, and he pressed a fist to his heart.

 

“I hear and obey.” | “I hear and obey.”