The First Tale of Arvaril
The cold cool air blew around the face of Imannor-Alac Ilia Vailarr as he looked out of the tiny window of his fortress, onto to the cool green plains of his fatherland, Arvaril.
Arvaril was a glorious land filled with green grasslands, magical forest, and towering white mountains. The air was cool and fresh everywhere you went and seemed perfectly primed for battle, or at least that's how Vailarr looked at it. You see Arvaril is a simple land, where all you require, to have lived to the fullest, is to cover yourself in glory. The banner of the Old Empire had once born the words, "Our hearts beat still, for Arvaril, and forever shall beat for Glory!" words from the Old Imperial Anthem, before the Divisive rebellion. But I am travelling too far into the past. It is not time for that yet.
To say that all one needs, in Arvaril, is to cover oneself in glory, means everything is simple, but not very simple. For Glory can be of many types. There is the Glory of thieves, for whom, lies, schemes and subterfuge add to Glory. There are the Masters of the Arts, for whom the thunderous applaude of the crowd is never enough. There is also that group of men, in whose lives and tales the name of Arvaril has gone far, for whom Glory appears in the form of conquest, courage, and adventure. It is to this type of men that Ilia Vailarr belonged.
Vailarr was not quite the same as all the other men of his type. No, he was more ambitious than any of his fellow men, and indeed more than all of those before him. For as he looked out upon the plains of that land he loved, his head was filled not with the ordinary thoughts of treasure hunting or conquest, but a desire to own the whole of Arvaril. No, not a desire, a knowledge that some day he would. When Vailarr looked out upon Arvaril, he looked upon his budding Empire.
Vailarr moved back from his window and put on his Armour, as presented to him by his man servants. He checked himself one last time in the mirror to make sure everything was in place. He would now meet with his underlings and summon his troops for a last minute pep talk. Today began his first major battle.
***
Down below in the dungeons, in the large cell that would hold any captured Diolorahgs during the battle, the Personal Guard of Vailarr and the Guardians of the fort had convened. During the Battle, the Personal Guard would act as troops directly hearing the call of the Imannor-Alac and the Guardians were responsible for keeping the fort secure. The guardians were usually of medium importance, but Vailnarr was a very innovative general and desired that they be at top form. Naturally his own crack troops had been called to train them and this convention was one final formality before the battle, signifying the equal status of both sets of troops. There had been tension at first, but the selection was strict and by the end of the training the Guards had been willing to accept the remaining Guardians as their comrades.
They all stood in a group facing the entrance to the cell. Panting and slightly out of breath, a Guardian entered the cell through the back. His name was Teretirolon, and he was very late.
Panting he said,"Have I missed anything yet?" An old and experienced Guard near the back of the group turned and looked at him. He was short, stalky and gruff. "Well, you have missed the ceremonial Convention, if that's what you mean. The commander has just made his speech and now we await orders to move out."
Teretirolon stopped to think. This meant, one: That he had missed nothing important(note that only Teretirolon would have concluded this. Others like Ineron T'ac, the veteran he had spoken too, would say that the ceremony,ie, eating and drinking, was the most important)(and rightly so). This also meant that they would get to see the Immanor-Alac himself as he called out the Guard.
Teretirolon expressed these ideas to Ineron. "Teret",Ineron replied," you will someday learn that a man's most basic needs drive him in battle. Not thought. And further more, the Immanor-Alac..""Has just walked in!" Teret exclaimed.
***
Vailarr walked out into the outer hallway of the fort, where his commanders stood. "Immanor Athu, Immanor Gelbins, Immanor Throlay-T'or, Immanor Ingismanek", he said as he walked by. "Alac!" They bowed in reply. Outside a thousand men gathered to heed their commander. The Immanor-Alac addressed his troops," Men today you stand before me, an army 11 months old. We have fought and won our way to a position of victory. Across the fields lay our prize, all that remains is for us to claim it. We will be strong, we will be fierce, we will be brave. We will earn our place in history tonight, and as the sun shineth on me today so shall glory shine down upon you. Go forth with courage, men, Glory to thee all!" The earth shook and the trees trembled as his army, a thousand men strong replied, "GLORY TO US ALL! GLORY TO THEE IMANNOR-ALAC!"
Then three of the Immanor began troop organization and Vailarr took Immanor Gelbins aside. "Gelbins, I need not stress the importance of your mission today. I and the army of One Thousand will work towards our destiny, but you, you shall narrowly escape your Death. I have full faith in you Gelbins.""Sir, I shall not let you down. Glory to Thee." And, Glory to Thee, Gelbins. Move in once I've recalled the Guard."
***
Ineron was right that the Immanor-Alac would move swiftly. He had summoned the Guard and left the room so quickly that Teret hadn't a chance to see him. This could also be due to the Behemoth of a guardian, Anetharr, who stood directly infront of him. Teret moved to the side to get a better view of who was commanding them. Probably some poor old chap from the Sizaca mission, relegated to Guard Duty.
Oh no, no poor chap, it was Immanor Gelbins! Teret was a little uneasy. What were they guarding in the fort that they needed a whole Immanor? Immanor Gelbins spoke.
"You hear above you the sounds of our men, your commrades marching away to battle. You grow green and sick with envy, Glory shall come to them and not you. Here you are wrong.
To the North and North-West of the fort, lies the Mountain Range of Yehth. To the south and south west is the river Hyens and the Montains of Orr. To the East are the Narrow plains of Ingyara, the first territory of Diolorahg, through which marches the Alcans Army of Vailnarr. But there is one place where we are unguarded. The pass to the West, the First pass of Arvaril, where the mountains of Yehth and Orr combine, where the kingdoms of Emperor Terressin and The Diolorahg are divided from whence shall march forth a threat; none other than Emperor Teressin Himself! It is there that we shall find our Glory today, men, for we are to guard the pass with our lives! You have heard it, spoken it, heeded the whispers and the tales, but today, we shall trully write history, as we march forth to forge the Empire of Vailnarr! Glory to Thee, men!"
"GLORY TO US ALL! GLORY FOR THE EMPIRE OF VAILARR!!!" The tremendous shouting sent a lightning bolt through Teret's brain. The Empire of Vailarr? Yes, he had heard the rumours, but...So it was true! They would disobey the Emperor Terressin and forge an Empire of their own(Vailarr's actually)! It was too much to hold in. Teret joined in the cheers! Oh, how giddy he felt! A great quest, great adventure! There were simply no words. It was a feeling, a feeling so familiar, a feeling he knew, but wait, when was it exactly? I'll get to it when, how...tip of the tongue....Teret shook himself and blinked back to the real world. His commrades were already starting to take formation. He scowled in anger, these blackouts are getting on my nerves, he thought, and went to join the ranks.
***
The hooves of the cavalry the thundered. The terrifying roar of the battle hardened footsteps was drowned out by the louder and far more sinister sound of cold steel armor, clinking in unison as the Army of thousands crossed the Ingyaran fields. The cold cold morning air of Arvaril cut across the face of Vailarr as he and his officers rode, somewhere in the centre of it all. He sat upon his steed, erect, his face confident and relaxed. Inside however he was deep in thought, brooding upon his plan. One week, One week was all it would take him to secure all of Arvaril for himself. Arvaril's unique politics would allow this, yet he had to work with clockwork precision. Today was the day he started it all, with no turning back. And he wouldn't. For he was born to rule. Cool, stern and cunning. He was an ideal King. Yet his heart beat quickly in his chest. He was on the threshold of fame, fortune, and Glory.
Across the fields, the mist began to clear, Dark shadows stood pacing up and down. The fort Ghilghrisl loomed above, the darkest shadow of all. It was a powerful fort, it guarded the Diolorahg frontier. At full capacity it held 1500 troops with stables for 500.
Kings are very tricky people, Emperor's more so. The fort that would normally hold 1500 troops was packed to capacity. They knew what was coming, and they also knew who. Emperor's are very tricky indeed.
For a moment, that final unending moment before the call of the horns, the two armies stood, facing each other across the green, windswept plains of Arvaril, the plain of Ingyara. On one side were the Diolorahgs, a truly grotesque sight; all slavering jaws and hairy arms; on the other, was the Alcans army of Vailarr, spit and polish, the worthy fourth glorial of the Terassin Empire.
Both armies were tense, both were eyes filled with anger hatred and rage.
The horn blew. The battle began!
At first it was the Diolorahgs advancing. Vailarr ordered his troops forward. He watched as his brave frontline led his troops in. Far away at a point near the forts entrance, he saw the General, hazy in the mist. If Vailarr knew his battle-stategy, this was the Manouver of Entrapment, where one led the opposing army in and unleash a heavy barrage of arrows. As predicted, the Diolorahg archers filled the air, their arrow-tips sharp and heavy, like rain they fell, with the single intent of stinging their prey to death. A steel tipped swarm of bees.
Although he did not mean to, Ineron's instincts caused him to flinch. He knew how important they were, but sometimes show is more important. They were the Alcans army, the Diolorahgs must know that they would not be afraid of a little hail. The heavy troops marched forward. They had used the steel of Wendich; rationed metal, saved for officers in most leagues, not so here. Vailarr had given it to his troops, his front line. So thus unfettered, they moved forward.
Vailarr watched in the distance as the Diolorahg general signalled a halt. The Manouvre had failed, Vailarr knew he must act fast and catch the general off-guard. T'or was leading the ground troops, he would know what to do. Vailarr gave the signal; using a metal chink in his armour, he fired a squeeling volley of sound; the signal for T'or to move.
T'or raised his sword and charged, the Diolorahgs were caught completely off-guard. As expected, the slow advance and the undamaged armour had proven to them that the troops were strong, but also heavy and slow. The general had sought to buy time by calling his troops to a halt. That hidden behind the frontline was a light infantry, they did not know. The Army was on them before they had a chance to react. Vailarr watched the general carefully for a very specific signal.
Within minutes, the Diolorahg ranks were in disarray. The inexperienced troops in front were being mown down by the Alcans army, they were driven from the centre, clumping to two sides from the middle. The clumps became wedged between a jagged Alcans frontline, they ripped the Diolorahg troops confidently to shreds. Ingismanek was quick to rally troops around the flanks, so as to keep the battle in control, T'or egged the frontline on, dealing with stray mounted officers.
Ineron fought hard. Being amongst the light infantry, he had had a dangerous role. While it is true that light armour meant speed, it also meant you were likely to get your head cut off. If it wasn't for the experience gleened from years of fights, and the disgraceful inexperience of the Diolorahg frontliners, he may not have survived(May not; he was a good warrior, so this point is quite important; at least it was to him). But this is why they trusted the Immanor-Alac so greatly. With swords flashing and blood flying, however, it was not time to reflect. Ineron decapitated a snarling young Diolorahg and went quick to the aid of a friend, surrounded by Spear-Diolorahgs. His feet were swift and sword swifter, and soon the Diolorahgs had disbanded to annoy their fellow-diolorahgs in a mini rout. Ineron was worried. For though he trusted the Alac's decisions, he was also quite aware of the situation around him. The Diolorahgs were falling swiftly, but many more seemed to fill each one's place. The diolorahgs had the advantage of numbers, and he did not know how long his armour could hold out. A pice of metal chipped from his shield and went flying.
Then he heard the sound of a call from the Immanor-Alac, and he knew the battle would swiftly be won.
Vailarr watched as the Diolorahg frontline panicked, and the more experienced rear began to replace them. It would not be long before the soldiers were evenly matched, and the Diolorahg numbers began to matter. His judgment of the Diolorahg General was crucial. And then it happened. A single D-blat(Diolorahg blatterator-a sort of horn) reached to the heavens and brought day. The cavalry was charging. The eager Vailarr saw the Generals Right-hand bring in the cavalry to his right flank in an attempt to regain control of the battle. The Immanor-Alac quickly sent out the Armour-call to his remaining Immanor, Athu and the final stage of battle began to unfold.
As the Diolorahg Cavalry closed in a seeming band of giants rose from the soldiers of the right flank. Commanded by Athu, the soldiers had used special chinks in their armour to join together and form pyramids made of soldiers with limbs made of their commrades, that swung with terrible force into the Diolorahgs below. It was a dangerous task manning the tips of those monstrous living weapons, which is why Athu had called the heavily armoured frontline in to do the job. They moved swiftly outwards from centre, towards the cavalry and Diolorahg groundtroops in front.
This was the final straw for the troops. Spooked by the appearance of such alien monstrosities, and recieving no word from their petrified general, the troops began to run. First the remains of the butchered cavalry and then the ground troops. Vailarrs soldiers began to surround fleeing troops and slaughter them.
The doors of the fort were opened and the Diolorahg troops rushed in. the Alcans troops that followed, including Ineron, were quick to reach the doors and prevent a barricade. The metal giants disbanded and went quickly at the commands of Athu and Ingismanek to round up fleeing troops. Along with the rest of his army and T'or, Vailarr walked up to the Walls and called to the General, asking for complete surrender.
***
Far away, far faw away, deep in the heart of the Empire of Terressin there was a castle; not just a castle; it was a palace; nay nor even was it that; but i was an entire city to itself: Alarna the Capital of the Terassin Empire. In the castle, in one f the towers, far far away, from those that mingled below, there was a small room: tiny it was, though large compared to the huts of today, it was tiny for a room in Alarna. It was rendered smaller still, but the sheer volume of old parchments and books and orbs and other scholarly items scattered around. It was a small musty tower far from all else, but the Eagles and Hawks fying through the blue crystal sky above.
Our scene set inside: Three men in a room, one scribe, and two all powerful seers; Trethiliros, the scribe: Reknowned all over for his mastery of the lore and his grasp of natural fundaments. It was under his supervision that the Terassin giants of war were created; Olimanthador, the Eldest: A grey haired man who, it was said could see to the distant sun and beyond, he knew all that went on in the world; and of course, the last, standing tall, calm and relaxed near the door, Arthur, the youngest, discovered only recently by Olimanthador following a rise in popularity among the public.
Olimanthador watched the orb. "So you think, it is in the best interests of common good? Do you think so?" Trethiliros grinned, a fat toothy grin, his keen eyes twinkilng in the candle light. He looked like a shark. "Yes, I do."
"But then", woofed Olimanthador, wheezing as if to show off his age and thereby grandness,"You, have always been a rebel"
"Not quite so, I was a long time ago, quite the empirical loyalist."
Olimanthador smiled," Yes during the time of the Imperial's reign."
"It was a time of great glory, O Elder Olimanthador. For both of us, and for the people od Arvaril as a whole. You know that."
"No time is without its virtue, none without pain."
"Very wise, O Eldest..."
"But Terassin is insane" Arthur chimed.
Trethiliros stiffled a smile as the seriousness of the conversation fell a notch.
Olimanthador turned towards Arthur and scowled quzzically.
Arthur continued chewing his apple-noten.
"We all know it will happen, so why bother?" His demeanor was non-chalant as he tossed the rindless apple-noten into a hollowed skull on the floor.
"Yes, but we Could have told him, we could have changed things" started Olimanthador.
"This is much more interesting", said Arthur.
"But I depise death so...."
"Don't worry", said Trethirilos, patting Olimanthador's hand. "I don't like it anymore than you. I have to write about it everytime it happens."
"We are impervious to these things", said Arthur,"We are seers, scribes, holders of knowledge, everyone needs us, noone dares touch us.."
"Yes but the People!"said Olimanthador,"The people who will die..."
"Eldest,"said Trethirilos,"People will die, no matter when, no matter what happens, you Know that.."
"Yes but we sit here, fat and unharmed by any pain. Do you fancy us to be the Givers of Glory? Are We to decide who is to bathe in the light of Glory and who is to lay Unwashed?" the man's voice lowered,"It seems almost unGlorious."
Trethirilos scoffed,"UnGlorious? UnGlorious? What Foul words, O Olimanthador! How strange to see you moved such ancient sentiments. If you would have the courage only to look at the big picture...."
"Yes, and the final days of Glory are upon us either way. It doesn't matter, really", Arthur cut in, as was his custom to do.
"You speak with confidence about that, young Seer, all this 'final week' nonsense of yours....", Trethirilos cut it as he was growing accustomed to doing(ever since Arthur joined the group).
Arthur began to move coolly towards the exit of the room, "All I'm saying is get it while it lasts. It ain't over till the fat lady sings, and in seven day's, we'll have front row seats."
And with this last eccentricity, he left the room.
***
The Arvarilian sun set in the West casting darkness over the remnants of the Diorolahg being swept up by the Terassinians as they tried to flee the plain. Dots of torchlight appeared around the Diolorahg Fort, now in the hands of their enemy, and its facade glowed more orange with the birth of each flame. The Terassinians inside the Fort checked each room meticulously, apprehending the Fort's non-military staff, turning out Dioloragh soldiers that had stayed behind and checking for trap doors and other such mechanisms by which their enemies might hide themselves.
In one room Vailarr's personal entourage were busy clearing things away and getting ready for the Immanor-Alac's arrival. As they finished, he strode in, clad in full armour and ordered his staff to clear out so that soon in one room in the centre of the Fort, Vailarr stood alone. Vailarr had stayed in his armour, even as his men, in other parts of the Fort were taking off theirs and preparing for revelry befitting their victory. Vailarr still had work to do, and it wasn't pretty, but as ever a calm and collected leader, he would wait only until the arrival of his Immanori and carry on his work without batting an eye. The evening's battle had been important and had gone perfectly to plan, but the days ahead required so much more from him. His men needed rest. But, for all of their sakes, he would need to stay on the ball.
A small table occupied the room's centre, and scattered upon it was a collection of sealed parchments. There was a lamp above the table and several around the room. The room itself was at the Fort’s centre and had no windows, save one that looked out onto the inner courtyard. It was here that Vailarr stood in deep thought, his reverie broken only by the sound of a pair of very familiar boots.
At the door now stood Immanor T'or, his large horned helmet in hand, the other behind his back and in a booming voice he said," Yorothos Y, Immanor-Alac. Do I have permission to enter?"
The Immanor-Alac wheeled around. "Y-Orothos. You may enter, T'or, and give me a report."
"The Fort is secure, Ielon. I have placed five patrols on constant watch and a twenty man contingent to watch the walls. There are 20 on guard to man the gates, and the rest of the men have leave with a suggestion to rest. I doubt they will listen."
"And the Diorolaghs?"
All Diorolaghs in the register are accounted for and in the Dungeon under lock and key. They are being watched by Grigthor. He has orders to keep them quiet until we arrive."
"Good. And Athu and Ingismanek?"
"They are still on the plain, Athu having chimed in his Cry of Return, Ingismanek still searching, but within audible distance. I believe we shall only have to wait a little while longer for them to join us."
"Alright. Tonight is the last time we will be able to have a meeting such as this. We must go over everything once more before morning. I trust you are ready with your specific task for tonight?"
"Yes, Ielon."
"Good."
The two men stood on either side of the table and waited, with Vailarr silent, and lost in his own thoughts and Immanor T'Or knowing better than to disturb his leader. The room was silent.
Then, once more, the sound of familiar boots filled the corridor. This time two pairs, as the Immanori Ingismannek and Athu approached the doorway. The two men repeated T'Or's formal greeting and the Immanor-Alac bid them enter. They gathered round the table and gave their reports.
"We have scoured the plain," said Ingismannek. "And we have completed the prison tally. Every last Diolorahg is dead or in the dungeon below."
"Very good," said Vailarr. "Men, it is now that we are well and truly on our way, to Greater Glory or to our death. I have considered the plan and all its possibilities, and have come to that conclusion which is the best. I will discuss this with you, all of tonight, so that we are clear, and so that each of you can now mentally prepare for your own immense, individual task. We will require unerring precision and unwavering courage, each of us, and had I not trusted each of you, Gelbins included, implicitly to be up to the job, we would not be here. Ta Ilalag yon."
"Ilu ta Ilo, Ielon," replied the Immanori.
"But before we sit, we have our last task to finish, standing. Athu, have you found the foul beast we require?"
"He awaits us in the dungeon, in a separate cell. I put him there to avoid any further delay once we're there. He doesn't know what's going on, of course, and like the others, he's very nervous. But he's a trained messenger, and unlike the others was not actually a part of combat. He will run."
"Excellent. Follow me then, Immanori. Let us finish this quickly."
***
It was dusk and on the side of a small ship sat the dark figure of a lone man. He had an odd helmet on his head and sat swinging one leg as he stroked his beard and gazed off into the sunset. Another man with a small leather bag slung across his torso from one arm and a scroll of papyrus tucked under the other approached. He too was eccentric, but aside from the pouch, his dress did not reveal it.
“Ay Gr-groh’t!” said the man with the pouch, shadowed under the hull of the ship from the waning rays of the sun. “Captain Tr’ithican?”
“Ay Groh’t to you too friend. Are you the fellow paying for his voyage?”
“Yes.”
“T’rit?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm…”
“May I come on board?”
“Might as well, t’ain’t no one here. Just me and you- and the fading Solar Glory. Y Thryth’reh.”
The pouch man smiled and then looked up at the ship. He was unfamiliar with sailing, which was also one of his eccentricities. Without looking down Tr’ithican spoke,” Your clothes look foreign, how be you a man o’ the West with knowledge o’ the Eastern Tongue?”
The man with the pouch looked up at him. “Oh, well these clothes are Western but I am not of the West. I was in T’Dior Orayl’Ec for a long time, building myself,” he said, pointing to his head, “up here.”
“T’Dior Orayl’Ec? A scholar eh?” The captain replied without too much respect in his voice. “Hmmm…”
“Look, I’m as much E’in t’lag roil tu’in, a’…” “Look mate, lemme tell you what you’re looking for,” interrupted Captain Tr’ithican, so his idyllic mood wouldn’t be clouded by mundane ill-will. “The ramp onto the ship is on the other side- a’tric Lolimos Iman- as I’m sure you’ll understand. “Come on up and I’ll pour you Noten Brandy.”
T’rit ascended the ramp, pouch and all, and the captain guided him into the inner depths of the ship. The inside was dark, darker still because the sun had set, and he found himself sitting at a table in torchlight. The room was small and damp, with a curtained off section, a few bookcases and chests and one cupboard for the captain’s spirits. T’rit eyed the books. The captain opened his cupboard.
“Well, what will it be?”
T’rit looked up, “Huh? I thought you had specified Noten-Brandy.”
“Well yeah, but how do I know, you might be one of those loyalist folks who prefer the mean spirited brew of our own waters. Y a’lag l’t’Or and all as I’m sure you know!”
T’rit screwed up his face and began to look at the Captain crossly, “Noten-Brandy thank you. Y a’trey l’u as I’m sure you’ve heard as well.”
The captain laughed and said, “Come now, don’t get political. I can’t stand the local stuff meself.” He brought over a jug and two Faux-noten rinds.
He sat down and poured generously. “Y a’lus and to all Arvaril as well,” he said and lay his arm across the table and around his drink. T’rit crossed his drink and shook Tr’ithican’s hand. Then they ceremoniously raised their Faux-noten rinds and sipped.
“You’ll excuse the T’Or L’U a bit, we don’t get to meet too many Westfeet and one always has the ole grudge to bear. I’m well aware if there’s knowledge wanted, none’s to be gained hereabouts that would Glory a piece of papyrus.”
“Yes, and it’s not easy among Them, trust me.”
“It’s not easy among us right now either.”
“Yes I’ve heard,” said T’rit with curiosity.
“I’ll get to that. First, can you draw maps?”
“Yes I can, quite well I’d say.”
“Would you mind being the cartographer for our journey?”
T’rit smiled. “No I wouldn’t mind. But-“
“Wait, first tell me why you’re here.”
T’rit breathed in deeply. “Peace,” he said at length, “I need some peace and quiet.”
“Oh”, said Captain Tr’ithican. “Hmm. No yearnin’ to know what’s out there?”
“I am a scribe, Captain, I yearn to know anything I can and put it down into papyrus.”
“Oh good-“
“But I have come here because I have much to write, I have looked through many of the Chronicles regarding our history, over in T’Dior Orayl’Ec, even some books out of the Far West-“
“Oh? They still around then? The Far West?”
T’rit was confused. “Little joke,” said the Captain, “go on.”
“Yes well I need some time to sit down and make sense of it, and it won’t happen on land.”
“I’ll give you that, L’rick E’Ins. Very well, that’s good enough. I’ll fire our present cartographer as soon as your records arrive and prove not without Glory.”
T’rit looked up questioningly. “I never liked the chap”, said the Captain, “snot-nosed little bugger he was, thought himself doing us a favour by coming along. Not conducive to this sort of journey, y’know. Oh and if it’s the checking your worried about, well an important precaution what with the present climate- political I mean…”
T’rit sat back and sipped his Brandy looking at the Captain over the rim of his Faux-noten rind. “I’ve been asking you about that,” he said with a wry smile. “Do you think I’m a spy?”
“Well not of the West at any rate. Its safer to be sure about what’s on board before starting a trip. But yeah, to get to your questions, what you’ve heard is probably true. How far has the news spread?”
“Not far; surprisingly the Over-lords have no clue. Even out here, in the inns I’ve stopped at along the way, it seems like barely a rumour. Yet there’s no mistaking it, there are guards everywhere and the Ship-counting is much stricter than before I left,” T’rit looked at Tr’ithican worriedly. “How in the name of Glory did you get them to let you out?”
“I didn’t. Not directly,” said the Captain matter-of-factly. “You’re right, the Ship-Count is very tight. I’ve signed up for Scouting and Recon. Top-Secret, of course.”
“And you’re going to just sail off like that? They’ll kill you!”
Captain Tr’ithican laughed. “Small price to pay- if I’m caught.”
“And where is T’Or L’U now?” chuckled T’rit.
“Out there,” said the Captain, grimly.
T’rit quieted down. “Why are you undertaking this voyage, Captain, if I might ask?”
The Captain looked down into his Faux-noten rind and an air of reflective repose fell over him. The sound of gentle waves hitting the docks outside and the occasional creaking of his ship filled the air as T’rit waited patiently. At length, the Captain spoke, looking up with a sort of philosophical intensity. “How many years ‘ave we sat here? How many centuries- eons! How many ages has Arvaril stood, the fairest land o’ them all? How many years have our people sailed its shoreline. And yet no one, not a soul has ever thought to sail out. Across those waters- when I look at them, Rick, I cannot help but wonder! Have you seen a map o’ Arvaril? The whole o’ Arvaril? Have you found one in one o’ them books o’ yours in T’Dior Orayl’Ec? ‘Cause I’ll tell you, I have and if you have too you’ll know. Its an island. We’re just living on an island in the middle of the sea. Well, I can’t help but wonder what else is out there. What lies beyond? I love me land, don’t get me wrong- plenty o’ the ole T’Or L’U beating within these ribs o’ mine but I just got to know. What’s out there? Are we alone?”
There was the sound of a bunch of feet ascending the ship’s ramp. “That’ll be the crew,” said Tr’Ithican, rising. “Come on, I’ll introduce ya.”
T’rit stood up. He collected his pouch and scroll and walked towards the door. Just before they left the room, T’rit stopped the Captain and said, “Sir, it is an honour to be aboard for this journey.” Captain Tr’ithican chuckled and they both left the room.
Arvaril was a glorious land filled with green grasslands, magical forest, and towering white mountains. The air was cool and fresh everywhere you went and seemed perfectly primed for battle, or at least that's how Vailarr looked at it. You see Arvaril is a simple land, where all you require, to have lived to the fullest, is to cover yourself in glory. The banner of the Old Empire had once born the words, "Our hearts beat still, for Arvaril, and forever shall beat for Glory!" words from the Old Imperial Anthem, before the Divisive rebellion. But I am travelling too far into the past. It is not time for that yet.
To say that all one needs, in Arvaril, is to cover oneself in glory, means everything is simple, but not very simple. For Glory can be of many types. There is the Glory of thieves, for whom, lies, schemes and subterfuge add to Glory. There are the Masters of the Arts, for whom the thunderous applaude of the crowd is never enough. There is also that group of men, in whose lives and tales the name of Arvaril has gone far, for whom Glory appears in the form of conquest, courage, and adventure. It is to this type of men that Ilia Vailarr belonged.
Vailarr was not quite the same as all the other men of his type. No, he was more ambitious than any of his fellow men, and indeed more than all of those before him. For as he looked out upon the plains of that land he loved, his head was filled not with the ordinary thoughts of treasure hunting or conquest, but a desire to own the whole of Arvaril. No, not a desire, a knowledge that some day he would. When Vailarr looked out upon Arvaril, he looked upon his budding Empire.
Vailarr moved back from his window and put on his Armour, as presented to him by his man servants. He checked himself one last time in the mirror to make sure everything was in place. He would now meet with his underlings and summon his troops for a last minute pep talk. Today began his first major battle.
***
Down below in the dungeons, in the large cell that would hold any captured Diolorahgs during the battle, the Personal Guard of Vailarr and the Guardians of the fort had convened. During the Battle, the Personal Guard would act as troops directly hearing the call of the Imannor-Alac and the Guardians were responsible for keeping the fort secure. The guardians were usually of medium importance, but Vailnarr was a very innovative general and desired that they be at top form. Naturally his own crack troops had been called to train them and this convention was one final formality before the battle, signifying the equal status of both sets of troops. There had been tension at first, but the selection was strict and by the end of the training the Guards had been willing to accept the remaining Guardians as their comrades.
They all stood in a group facing the entrance to the cell. Panting and slightly out of breath, a Guardian entered the cell through the back. His name was Teretirolon, and he was very late.
Panting he said,"Have I missed anything yet?" An old and experienced Guard near the back of the group turned and looked at him. He was short, stalky and gruff. "Well, you have missed the ceremonial Convention, if that's what you mean. The commander has just made his speech and now we await orders to move out."
Teretirolon stopped to think. This meant, one: That he had missed nothing important(note that only Teretirolon would have concluded this. Others like Ineron T'ac, the veteran he had spoken too, would say that the ceremony,ie, eating and drinking, was the most important)(and rightly so). This also meant that they would get to see the Immanor-Alac himself as he called out the Guard.
Teretirolon expressed these ideas to Ineron. "Teret",Ineron replied," you will someday learn that a man's most basic needs drive him in battle. Not thought. And further more, the Immanor-Alac..""Has just walked in!" Teret exclaimed.
***
Vailarr walked out into the outer hallway of the fort, where his commanders stood. "Immanor Athu, Immanor Gelbins, Immanor Throlay-T'or, Immanor Ingismanek", he said as he walked by. "Alac!" They bowed in reply. Outside a thousand men gathered to heed their commander. The Immanor-Alac addressed his troops," Men today you stand before me, an army 11 months old. We have fought and won our way to a position of victory. Across the fields lay our prize, all that remains is for us to claim it. We will be strong, we will be fierce, we will be brave. We will earn our place in history tonight, and as the sun shineth on me today so shall glory shine down upon you. Go forth with courage, men, Glory to thee all!" The earth shook and the trees trembled as his army, a thousand men strong replied, "GLORY TO US ALL! GLORY TO THEE IMANNOR-ALAC!"
Then three of the Immanor began troop organization and Vailarr took Immanor Gelbins aside. "Gelbins, I need not stress the importance of your mission today. I and the army of One Thousand will work towards our destiny, but you, you shall narrowly escape your Death. I have full faith in you Gelbins.""Sir, I shall not let you down. Glory to Thee." And, Glory to Thee, Gelbins. Move in once I've recalled the Guard."
***
Ineron was right that the Immanor-Alac would move swiftly. He had summoned the Guard and left the room so quickly that Teret hadn't a chance to see him. This could also be due to the Behemoth of a guardian, Anetharr, who stood directly infront of him. Teret moved to the side to get a better view of who was commanding them. Probably some poor old chap from the Sizaca mission, relegated to Guard Duty.
Oh no, no poor chap, it was Immanor Gelbins! Teret was a little uneasy. What were they guarding in the fort that they needed a whole Immanor? Immanor Gelbins spoke.
"You hear above you the sounds of our men, your commrades marching away to battle. You grow green and sick with envy, Glory shall come to them and not you. Here you are wrong.
To the North and North-West of the fort, lies the Mountain Range of Yehth. To the south and south west is the river Hyens and the Montains of Orr. To the East are the Narrow plains of Ingyara, the first territory of Diolorahg, through which marches the Alcans Army of Vailnarr. But there is one place where we are unguarded. The pass to the West, the First pass of Arvaril, where the mountains of Yehth and Orr combine, where the kingdoms of Emperor Terressin and The Diolorahg are divided from whence shall march forth a threat; none other than Emperor Teressin Himself! It is there that we shall find our Glory today, men, for we are to guard the pass with our lives! You have heard it, spoken it, heeded the whispers and the tales, but today, we shall trully write history, as we march forth to forge the Empire of Vailnarr! Glory to Thee, men!"
"GLORY TO US ALL! GLORY FOR THE EMPIRE OF VAILARR!!!" The tremendous shouting sent a lightning bolt through Teret's brain. The Empire of Vailarr? Yes, he had heard the rumours, but...So it was true! They would disobey the Emperor Terressin and forge an Empire of their own(Vailarr's actually)! It was too much to hold in. Teret joined in the cheers! Oh, how giddy he felt! A great quest, great adventure! There were simply no words. It was a feeling, a feeling so familiar, a feeling he knew, but wait, when was it exactly? I'll get to it when, how...tip of the tongue....Teret shook himself and blinked back to the real world. His commrades were already starting to take formation. He scowled in anger, these blackouts are getting on my nerves, he thought, and went to join the ranks.
***
The hooves of the cavalry the thundered. The terrifying roar of the battle hardened footsteps was drowned out by the louder and far more sinister sound of cold steel armor, clinking in unison as the Army of thousands crossed the Ingyaran fields. The cold cold morning air of Arvaril cut across the face of Vailarr as he and his officers rode, somewhere in the centre of it all. He sat upon his steed, erect, his face confident and relaxed. Inside however he was deep in thought, brooding upon his plan. One week, One week was all it would take him to secure all of Arvaril for himself. Arvaril's unique politics would allow this, yet he had to work with clockwork precision. Today was the day he started it all, with no turning back. And he wouldn't. For he was born to rule. Cool, stern and cunning. He was an ideal King. Yet his heart beat quickly in his chest. He was on the threshold of fame, fortune, and Glory.
Across the fields, the mist began to clear, Dark shadows stood pacing up and down. The fort Ghilghrisl loomed above, the darkest shadow of all. It was a powerful fort, it guarded the Diolorahg frontier. At full capacity it held 1500 troops with stables for 500.
Kings are very tricky people, Emperor's more so. The fort that would normally hold 1500 troops was packed to capacity. They knew what was coming, and they also knew who. Emperor's are very tricky indeed.
For a moment, that final unending moment before the call of the horns, the two armies stood, facing each other across the green, windswept plains of Arvaril, the plain of Ingyara. On one side were the Diolorahgs, a truly grotesque sight; all slavering jaws and hairy arms; on the other, was the Alcans army of Vailarr, spit and polish, the worthy fourth glorial of the Terassin Empire.
Both armies were tense, both were eyes filled with anger hatred and rage.
The horn blew. The battle began!
At first it was the Diolorahgs advancing. Vailarr ordered his troops forward. He watched as his brave frontline led his troops in. Far away at a point near the forts entrance, he saw the General, hazy in the mist. If Vailarr knew his battle-stategy, this was the Manouver of Entrapment, where one led the opposing army in and unleash a heavy barrage of arrows. As predicted, the Diolorahg archers filled the air, their arrow-tips sharp and heavy, like rain they fell, with the single intent of stinging their prey to death. A steel tipped swarm of bees.
Although he did not mean to, Ineron's instincts caused him to flinch. He knew how important they were, but sometimes show is more important. They were the Alcans army, the Diolorahgs must know that they would not be afraid of a little hail. The heavy troops marched forward. They had used the steel of Wendich; rationed metal, saved for officers in most leagues, not so here. Vailarr had given it to his troops, his front line. So thus unfettered, they moved forward.
Vailarr watched in the distance as the Diolorahg general signalled a halt. The Manouvre had failed, Vailarr knew he must act fast and catch the general off-guard. T'or was leading the ground troops, he would know what to do. Vailarr gave the signal; using a metal chink in his armour, he fired a squeeling volley of sound; the signal for T'or to move.
T'or raised his sword and charged, the Diolorahgs were caught completely off-guard. As expected, the slow advance and the undamaged armour had proven to them that the troops were strong, but also heavy and slow. The general had sought to buy time by calling his troops to a halt. That hidden behind the frontline was a light infantry, they did not know. The Army was on them before they had a chance to react. Vailarr watched the general carefully for a very specific signal.
Within minutes, the Diolorahg ranks were in disarray. The inexperienced troops in front were being mown down by the Alcans army, they were driven from the centre, clumping to two sides from the middle. The clumps became wedged between a jagged Alcans frontline, they ripped the Diolorahg troops confidently to shreds. Ingismanek was quick to rally troops around the flanks, so as to keep the battle in control, T'or egged the frontline on, dealing with stray mounted officers.
Ineron fought hard. Being amongst the light infantry, he had had a dangerous role. While it is true that light armour meant speed, it also meant you were likely to get your head cut off. If it wasn't for the experience gleened from years of fights, and the disgraceful inexperience of the Diolorahg frontliners, he may not have survived(May not; he was a good warrior, so this point is quite important; at least it was to him). But this is why they trusted the Immanor-Alac so greatly. With swords flashing and blood flying, however, it was not time to reflect. Ineron decapitated a snarling young Diolorahg and went quick to the aid of a friend, surrounded by Spear-Diolorahgs. His feet were swift and sword swifter, and soon the Diolorahgs had disbanded to annoy their fellow-diolorahgs in a mini rout. Ineron was worried. For though he trusted the Alac's decisions, he was also quite aware of the situation around him. The Diolorahgs were falling swiftly, but many more seemed to fill each one's place. The diolorahgs had the advantage of numbers, and he did not know how long his armour could hold out. A pice of metal chipped from his shield and went flying.
Then he heard the sound of a call from the Immanor-Alac, and he knew the battle would swiftly be won.
Vailarr watched as the Diolorahg frontline panicked, and the more experienced rear began to replace them. It would not be long before the soldiers were evenly matched, and the Diolorahg numbers began to matter. His judgment of the Diolorahg General was crucial. And then it happened. A single D-blat(Diolorahg blatterator-a sort of horn) reached to the heavens and brought day. The cavalry was charging. The eager Vailarr saw the Generals Right-hand bring in the cavalry to his right flank in an attempt to regain control of the battle. The Immanor-Alac quickly sent out the Armour-call to his remaining Immanor, Athu and the final stage of battle began to unfold.
As the Diolorahg Cavalry closed in a seeming band of giants rose from the soldiers of the right flank. Commanded by Athu, the soldiers had used special chinks in their armour to join together and form pyramids made of soldiers with limbs made of their commrades, that swung with terrible force into the Diolorahgs below. It was a dangerous task manning the tips of those monstrous living weapons, which is why Athu had called the heavily armoured frontline in to do the job. They moved swiftly outwards from centre, towards the cavalry and Diolorahg groundtroops in front.
This was the final straw for the troops. Spooked by the appearance of such alien monstrosities, and recieving no word from their petrified general, the troops began to run. First the remains of the butchered cavalry and then the ground troops. Vailarrs soldiers began to surround fleeing troops and slaughter them.
The doors of the fort were opened and the Diolorahg troops rushed in. the Alcans troops that followed, including Ineron, were quick to reach the doors and prevent a barricade. The metal giants disbanded and went quickly at the commands of Athu and Ingismanek to round up fleeing troops. Along with the rest of his army and T'or, Vailarr walked up to the Walls and called to the General, asking for complete surrender.
***
Far away, far faw away, deep in the heart of the Empire of Terressin there was a castle; not just a castle; it was a palace; nay nor even was it that; but i was an entire city to itself: Alarna the Capital of the Terassin Empire. In the castle, in one f the towers, far far away, from those that mingled below, there was a small room: tiny it was, though large compared to the huts of today, it was tiny for a room in Alarna. It was rendered smaller still, but the sheer volume of old parchments and books and orbs and other scholarly items scattered around. It was a small musty tower far from all else, but the Eagles and Hawks fying through the blue crystal sky above.
Our scene set inside: Three men in a room, one scribe, and two all powerful seers; Trethiliros, the scribe: Reknowned all over for his mastery of the lore and his grasp of natural fundaments. It was under his supervision that the Terassin giants of war were created; Olimanthador, the Eldest: A grey haired man who, it was said could see to the distant sun and beyond, he knew all that went on in the world; and of course, the last, standing tall, calm and relaxed near the door, Arthur, the youngest, discovered only recently by Olimanthador following a rise in popularity among the public.
Olimanthador watched the orb. "So you think, it is in the best interests of common good? Do you think so?" Trethiliros grinned, a fat toothy grin, his keen eyes twinkilng in the candle light. He looked like a shark. "Yes, I do."
"But then", woofed Olimanthador, wheezing as if to show off his age and thereby grandness,"You, have always been a rebel"
"Not quite so, I was a long time ago, quite the empirical loyalist."
Olimanthador smiled," Yes during the time of the Imperial's reign."
"It was a time of great glory, O Elder Olimanthador. For both of us, and for the people od Arvaril as a whole. You know that."
"No time is without its virtue, none without pain."
"Very wise, O Eldest..."
"But Terassin is insane" Arthur chimed.
Trethiliros stiffled a smile as the seriousness of the conversation fell a notch.
Olimanthador turned towards Arthur and scowled quzzically.
Arthur continued chewing his apple-noten.
"We all know it will happen, so why bother?" His demeanor was non-chalant as he tossed the rindless apple-noten into a hollowed skull on the floor.
"Yes, but we Could have told him, we could have changed things" started Olimanthador.
"This is much more interesting", said Arthur.
"But I depise death so...."
"Don't worry", said Trethirilos, patting Olimanthador's hand. "I don't like it anymore than you. I have to write about it everytime it happens."
"We are impervious to these things", said Arthur,"We are seers, scribes, holders of knowledge, everyone needs us, noone dares touch us.."
"Yes but the People!"said Olimanthador,"The people who will die..."
"Eldest,"said Trethirilos,"People will die, no matter when, no matter what happens, you Know that.."
"Yes but we sit here, fat and unharmed by any pain. Do you fancy us to be the Givers of Glory? Are We to decide who is to bathe in the light of Glory and who is to lay Unwashed?" the man's voice lowered,"It seems almost unGlorious."
Trethirilos scoffed,"UnGlorious? UnGlorious? What Foul words, O Olimanthador! How strange to see you moved such ancient sentiments. If you would have the courage only to look at the big picture...."
"Yes, and the final days of Glory are upon us either way. It doesn't matter, really", Arthur cut in, as was his custom to do.
"You speak with confidence about that, young Seer, all this 'final week' nonsense of yours....", Trethirilos cut it as he was growing accustomed to doing(ever since Arthur joined the group).
Arthur began to move coolly towards the exit of the room, "All I'm saying is get it while it lasts. It ain't over till the fat lady sings, and in seven day's, we'll have front row seats."
And with this last eccentricity, he left the room.
***
The Arvarilian sun set in the West casting darkness over the remnants of the Diorolahg being swept up by the Terassinians as they tried to flee the plain. Dots of torchlight appeared around the Diolorahg Fort, now in the hands of their enemy, and its facade glowed more orange with the birth of each flame. The Terassinians inside the Fort checked each room meticulously, apprehending the Fort's non-military staff, turning out Dioloragh soldiers that had stayed behind and checking for trap doors and other such mechanisms by which their enemies might hide themselves.
In one room Vailarr's personal entourage were busy clearing things away and getting ready for the Immanor-Alac's arrival. As they finished, he strode in, clad in full armour and ordered his staff to clear out so that soon in one room in the centre of the Fort, Vailarr stood alone. Vailarr had stayed in his armour, even as his men, in other parts of the Fort were taking off theirs and preparing for revelry befitting their victory. Vailarr still had work to do, and it wasn't pretty, but as ever a calm and collected leader, he would wait only until the arrival of his Immanori and carry on his work without batting an eye. The evening's battle had been important and had gone perfectly to plan, but the days ahead required so much more from him. His men needed rest. But, for all of their sakes, he would need to stay on the ball.
A small table occupied the room's centre, and scattered upon it was a collection of sealed parchments. There was a lamp above the table and several around the room. The room itself was at the Fort’s centre and had no windows, save one that looked out onto the inner courtyard. It was here that Vailarr stood in deep thought, his reverie broken only by the sound of a pair of very familiar boots.
At the door now stood Immanor T'or, his large horned helmet in hand, the other behind his back and in a booming voice he said," Yorothos Y, Immanor-Alac. Do I have permission to enter?"
The Immanor-Alac wheeled around. "Y-Orothos. You may enter, T'or, and give me a report."
"The Fort is secure, Ielon. I have placed five patrols on constant watch and a twenty man contingent to watch the walls. There are 20 on guard to man the gates, and the rest of the men have leave with a suggestion to rest. I doubt they will listen."
"And the Diorolaghs?"
All Diorolaghs in the register are accounted for and in the Dungeon under lock and key. They are being watched by Grigthor. He has orders to keep them quiet until we arrive."
"Good. And Athu and Ingismanek?"
"They are still on the plain, Athu having chimed in his Cry of Return, Ingismanek still searching, but within audible distance. I believe we shall only have to wait a little while longer for them to join us."
"Alright. Tonight is the last time we will be able to have a meeting such as this. We must go over everything once more before morning. I trust you are ready with your specific task for tonight?"
"Yes, Ielon."
"Good."
The two men stood on either side of the table and waited, with Vailarr silent, and lost in his own thoughts and Immanor T'Or knowing better than to disturb his leader. The room was silent.
Then, once more, the sound of familiar boots filled the corridor. This time two pairs, as the Immanori Ingismannek and Athu approached the doorway. The two men repeated T'Or's formal greeting and the Immanor-Alac bid them enter. They gathered round the table and gave their reports.
"We have scoured the plain," said Ingismannek. "And we have completed the prison tally. Every last Diolorahg is dead or in the dungeon below."
"Very good," said Vailarr. "Men, it is now that we are well and truly on our way, to Greater Glory or to our death. I have considered the plan and all its possibilities, and have come to that conclusion which is the best. I will discuss this with you, all of tonight, so that we are clear, and so that each of you can now mentally prepare for your own immense, individual task. We will require unerring precision and unwavering courage, each of us, and had I not trusted each of you, Gelbins included, implicitly to be up to the job, we would not be here. Ta Ilalag yon."
"Ilu ta Ilo, Ielon," replied the Immanori.
"But before we sit, we have our last task to finish, standing. Athu, have you found the foul beast we require?"
"He awaits us in the dungeon, in a separate cell. I put him there to avoid any further delay once we're there. He doesn't know what's going on, of course, and like the others, he's very nervous. But he's a trained messenger, and unlike the others was not actually a part of combat. He will run."
"Excellent. Follow me then, Immanori. Let us finish this quickly."
***
It was dusk and on the side of a small ship sat the dark figure of a lone man. He had an odd helmet on his head and sat swinging one leg as he stroked his beard and gazed off into the sunset. Another man with a small leather bag slung across his torso from one arm and a scroll of papyrus tucked under the other approached. He too was eccentric, but aside from the pouch, his dress did not reveal it.
“Ay Gr-groh’t!” said the man with the pouch, shadowed under the hull of the ship from the waning rays of the sun. “Captain Tr’ithican?”
“Ay Groh’t to you too friend. Are you the fellow paying for his voyage?”
“Yes.”
“T’rit?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm…”
“May I come on board?”
“Might as well, t’ain’t no one here. Just me and you- and the fading Solar Glory. Y Thryth’reh.”
The pouch man smiled and then looked up at the ship. He was unfamiliar with sailing, which was also one of his eccentricities. Without looking down Tr’ithican spoke,” Your clothes look foreign, how be you a man o’ the West with knowledge o’ the Eastern Tongue?”
The man with the pouch looked up at him. “Oh, well these clothes are Western but I am not of the West. I was in T’Dior Orayl’Ec for a long time, building myself,” he said, pointing to his head, “up here.”
“T’Dior Orayl’Ec? A scholar eh?” The captain replied without too much respect in his voice. “Hmmm…”
“Look, I’m as much E’in t’lag roil tu’in, a’…” “Look mate, lemme tell you what you’re looking for,” interrupted Captain Tr’ithican, so his idyllic mood wouldn’t be clouded by mundane ill-will. “The ramp onto the ship is on the other side- a’tric Lolimos Iman- as I’m sure you’ll understand. “Come on up and I’ll pour you Noten Brandy.”
T’rit ascended the ramp, pouch and all, and the captain guided him into the inner depths of the ship. The inside was dark, darker still because the sun had set, and he found himself sitting at a table in torchlight. The room was small and damp, with a curtained off section, a few bookcases and chests and one cupboard for the captain’s spirits. T’rit eyed the books. The captain opened his cupboard.
“Well, what will it be?”
T’rit looked up, “Huh? I thought you had specified Noten-Brandy.”
“Well yeah, but how do I know, you might be one of those loyalist folks who prefer the mean spirited brew of our own waters. Y a’lag l’t’Or and all as I’m sure you know!”
T’rit screwed up his face and began to look at the Captain crossly, “Noten-Brandy thank you. Y a’trey l’u as I’m sure you’ve heard as well.”
The captain laughed and said, “Come now, don’t get political. I can’t stand the local stuff meself.” He brought over a jug and two Faux-noten rinds.
He sat down and poured generously. “Y a’lus and to all Arvaril as well,” he said and lay his arm across the table and around his drink. T’rit crossed his drink and shook Tr’ithican’s hand. Then they ceremoniously raised their Faux-noten rinds and sipped.
“You’ll excuse the T’Or L’U a bit, we don’t get to meet too many Westfeet and one always has the ole grudge to bear. I’m well aware if there’s knowledge wanted, none’s to be gained hereabouts that would Glory a piece of papyrus.”
“Yes, and it’s not easy among Them, trust me.”
“It’s not easy among us right now either.”
“Yes I’ve heard,” said T’rit with curiosity.
“I’ll get to that. First, can you draw maps?”
“Yes I can, quite well I’d say.”
“Would you mind being the cartographer for our journey?”
T’rit smiled. “No I wouldn’t mind. But-“
“Wait, first tell me why you’re here.”
T’rit breathed in deeply. “Peace,” he said at length, “I need some peace and quiet.”
“Oh”, said Captain Tr’ithican. “Hmm. No yearnin’ to know what’s out there?”
“I am a scribe, Captain, I yearn to know anything I can and put it down into papyrus.”
“Oh good-“
“But I have come here because I have much to write, I have looked through many of the Chronicles regarding our history, over in T’Dior Orayl’Ec, even some books out of the Far West-“
“Oh? They still around then? The Far West?”
T’rit was confused. “Little joke,” said the Captain, “go on.”
“Yes well I need some time to sit down and make sense of it, and it won’t happen on land.”
“I’ll give you that, L’rick E’Ins. Very well, that’s good enough. I’ll fire our present cartographer as soon as your records arrive and prove not without Glory.”
T’rit looked up questioningly. “I never liked the chap”, said the Captain, “snot-nosed little bugger he was, thought himself doing us a favour by coming along. Not conducive to this sort of journey, y’know. Oh and if it’s the checking your worried about, well an important precaution what with the present climate- political I mean…”
T’rit sat back and sipped his Brandy looking at the Captain over the rim of his Faux-noten rind. “I’ve been asking you about that,” he said with a wry smile. “Do you think I’m a spy?”
“Well not of the West at any rate. Its safer to be sure about what’s on board before starting a trip. But yeah, to get to your questions, what you’ve heard is probably true. How far has the news spread?”
“Not far; surprisingly the Over-lords have no clue. Even out here, in the inns I’ve stopped at along the way, it seems like barely a rumour. Yet there’s no mistaking it, there are guards everywhere and the Ship-counting is much stricter than before I left,” T’rit looked at Tr’ithican worriedly. “How in the name of Glory did you get them to let you out?”
“I didn’t. Not directly,” said the Captain matter-of-factly. “You’re right, the Ship-Count is very tight. I’ve signed up for Scouting and Recon. Top-Secret, of course.”
“And you’re going to just sail off like that? They’ll kill you!”
Captain Tr’ithican laughed. “Small price to pay- if I’m caught.”
“And where is T’Or L’U now?” chuckled T’rit.
“Out there,” said the Captain, grimly.
T’rit quieted down. “Why are you undertaking this voyage, Captain, if I might ask?”
The Captain looked down into his Faux-noten rind and an air of reflective repose fell over him. The sound of gentle waves hitting the docks outside and the occasional creaking of his ship filled the air as T’rit waited patiently. At length, the Captain spoke, looking up with a sort of philosophical intensity. “How many years ‘ave we sat here? How many centuries- eons! How many ages has Arvaril stood, the fairest land o’ them all? How many years have our people sailed its shoreline. And yet no one, not a soul has ever thought to sail out. Across those waters- when I look at them, Rick, I cannot help but wonder! Have you seen a map o’ Arvaril? The whole o’ Arvaril? Have you found one in one o’ them books o’ yours in T’Dior Orayl’Ec? ‘Cause I’ll tell you, I have and if you have too you’ll know. Its an island. We’re just living on an island in the middle of the sea. Well, I can’t help but wonder what else is out there. What lies beyond? I love me land, don’t get me wrong- plenty o’ the ole T’Or L’U beating within these ribs o’ mine but I just got to know. What’s out there? Are we alone?”
There was the sound of a bunch of feet ascending the ship’s ramp. “That’ll be the crew,” said Tr’Ithican, rising. “Come on, I’ll introduce ya.”
T’rit stood up. He collected his pouch and scroll and walked towards the door. Just before they left the room, T’rit stopped the Captain and said, “Sir, it is an honour to be aboard for this journey.” Captain Tr’ithican chuckled and they both left the room.
posted by Chitrak at
1:12 PM
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