Not As Long Ago...
And now we zoom in a bit closer to present day. Rather than concerning ourselves with the whole of the multi-verse, we'll go back to the world that Aeloah created, just as he would one day revisit it, though several thousand years had passed on Candle'Bre by the time he returned.
When he finally did, he was shocked to find it inhabited and in fact, positively teeming with life. The last time he had taken refuge in Candle'Bre, it was an empty, trackless wilderness and he was amazed.
He did not, however, wish to make his presence known, both for fear that he would disrupt the life that had unexpectedly appeared here, and because he had no wish to be seen as a god, so...he simply watched the comings and doings of his People from afar.
While many cultures had arisen on this new world, there was one that rose far above the rest. The folk there had, in short order, created a powerful, stable Kingdom and were expanding steadily, pushing into new lands and pushing back the wilderness.
They were a wise, earnest People and he was rightly proud of them and their accomplishments.
Aeloah spent more than a decade moving quietly among his creations, recovering from his latest bout with Bel'Sheggorath, and when his strength had returned, he departed again, only missing the complete destruction of the fine, strong Kingdom he was so proud of by a decade or so.
What follows is the story of the destruction of that great Kingdom, and the formation of the Candle'Bre basin...
Flight and Founding
And know ye, that these are the words of the HighFather:
Works and Deeds are to be performed always for the glory of the HighFather first, as a celebration of his Gifts to you. The intellect to plan and design, and the skills of the hands to create works of wonder, beauty, and function. It is right and proper that these things be a boon to you, but never forget the commandment that they should, at all times and in all places, give honor and glory to the HighFather first, from whom all gifts spring. Only then will you walk in the path of righteousness.
To stray from the path of righteousness is to take for granted the comforts of hearth and home, or to celebrate your own cleverness. Never forget that J’honsa is the god of hardships and trials, and His People, His faithful must be ever vigilant against the sins of vanity, self-importance, and complacency.
To think too highly of oneself is a failure to acknowledge that J’honsa provides all, including the abilities innate to all men. To grow too comfortable from the fruits of your own labor or from your own cleverness is to allow sin to take root in the heart, and J’honsa does not abide a sinner.
Those who forget this commandment shall suffer plagues born from the same cleverness that once provided comfort to the lives of men, and these shall be delivered by J’honsa’s own son, Ollux, who was cast out of Heaven for his own pride and vanity.
~From the Book of Works and Deeds
On The Run
Lightning lanced out across the night sky in an almost painfully brilliant blue-white, and the air was suddenly filled with the scent of ozone. Before the afterglow could fade from the dark tapestry, painted in inky black and angry, rolling gray clouds, a growl of fierce thunder bellowed behind it.
The tattered refugees, looking impossibly small and helpless on the vast stretch of plain, shrank away from the sudden light, knowing all too well that if the Nilroggi spied them and sent riders or runners, their flight to freedom would come to an abrupt and violent end.
Blood.
It was on everyone's mind. So much blood washing over the Empire this last year, and rumor held that the Nilroggi could smell human blood for miles.
They were hunters from the bowels of the earth...tireless and relentless in their efforts since the first attacks began just after last year's Harvest Moon.
To be sure, The Emperor's legions had fought bravely, but against such an onslaught as they faced...the endless numbers and terrifying weapons and tactics these creatures of the earth used against them, one by one, The Legions that had guarded Ravanna for centuries were simply swept away.
Gone.
Smashed and torn by an enemy that knew no pain. That did not want for sleep or mercy. An enemy that struck without warning and in such numbers that the outcome was no longer in doubt. It was simply a matter of when.
Oh, the politicians made light of the matter, exaggerating the occasional victory, downplaying defeat after stinging defeat...but they could not stop the rumors.
Rumor gave way to rampant panic when the first of the refugees began arriving from the east. Ragged and beaten, they streamed westward in hopes of avoiding the fate that befell the Emperor's legions.
Many of these groups simply vanished in the night, leaving only a wide column of blood soaking into the ground where they had last been. Some though, did make safe to the mighty fortress of Kehesh, which sat a scant two days from the Capitol and boasted walls so thick that the Fortress Commander once decreed that the HighFather himself could not break them down.
They brought with them the grim stories of their travels. Tales of the lost, and of those blood-soaked hills and fields. Tales of the Fourth Legion's gallant but futile defense.
So it was true. The armies of the Emperor had been broken entirely then, and soon it seemed, the mighty fortress and her proud walls would be put to the ultimate test.
For their part, the refugees took no comfort in the boasted protection of the walls. They did not stop. And their departure through the capitol set off another flight of the population.
Not all at once of course, but it began. And as more stories of the approaching horde of Nilroggi circulated, the flight increased.
Small bands striking out further westward, hoping...praying for release. Escape from this strange foe who seemed to disdain the concept of mercy. Who cared nothing at all for parlay and discussion. There was only battle, and the outcome was no longer in doubt.
And so, when the lightening came, briefly and brilliantly illuminating the night, and marking their presence on the vast plain all too clearly, the refugees shrank back almost as one. Many wailed in terror. Many wept. But also, they did not stop.
No.
There would be no stopping now....the course was set.
Escape or die trying.
Chance Encounters
by David Sobotka: Arliss Castillar in Stained Glass in Sutheron
"Sir! Riders approaching!" Perrin shouted as he ran full tilt down the hill toward the assembled refugees, and Arliss Castillar watched him come, a thin, sad smile on his face.
Ahhh, the energy and exuberance of youth.
Young strong legs carrying him fast over the ground. A pity he was running to inform them of their impending deaths, rather than playing as most boys his age would be. Should be.
"Are they ours?" Arliss called out, not allowing even the faintest glimmer of hope into his voice.
It was well known that, although the Nilroggi were physically larger, they could, and in recent weeks had begun making use of horses…their pickets and patrols occasionally operating from horseback in an attempt to draw closer before being recognized for what they were.
Either way, there was nothing to be done. The refugees had makeshift weapons at best, and only a handful who knew anything about using them.
They were afoot, and the riders could catch them with ease and....
He didn't even finish the thought.
"Too far out to tell, Sir!" The young lad panted as he made to the "safety" of the group.
"Well then, I suppose we should prepare as best we can."
"Will we not try to outrun them?" The boy asked.
"Nay....we shall not. You said riders, yes?" Perrin nodded.
"Then we stand firm here. Running would only stretch our group thin and make any sort of defense impossible."
A large man with vast shoulders and heavily calloused hands snorted at that. "Either way our defense is impossible, old man. I have but twenty-six with me who have any sort of combat experience, and our weapons are ill-fit for woman's work, much less battle."
Arliss spun 'round on him, flushed with more anger than the comment warranted. "And what would you have us do, McDougil? Run ourselves ragged from an enemy who can catch us anyway? Better that we stand and fight, or even piss on them in defiance than that!"
McDougil paused, and his normally stony face actually softened half a shade as a hint of a smile flickered onto his features. "Such language for a Priest, Father Castillar."
Arliss bowed his head, shamed into silence by the rebuke.
"But I agree. We'll make ready here. Pass out the weapons and at least take a few with us." He unhooked the signal horn from his belt and blew two short blasts in quick succession to call his men to him.
More lightning flared when he did so, immediately followed by that menacing thunder.
Twenty-Six men, armed with spears improvised from pitchforks, and sometimes even less likely weapons. Yet they stood their ground with stoic bravery as the riders crested the slight rise and began down toward them.
A cheer went up from the refugees huddled behind the line of defenders.
The riders were human.
Better still, they bore the Imperial Crest. Regulars. A hard thing to find these days.
They approached slowly, and as they drew closer, the refugees began to see why. Many were badly injured, including many of the horses.
Arliss winced and wondered how many men had started out in this company. At present, he counted fifty-eight.
As the cavalry approached the battle line of the refugees, the leader of the horse troops held up a hand, halting his comrades behind him.
"Who leads you?" He asked in a firm, clear voice that was devoid of pain, fear, or despair (surprising, considering the gash in the breastplate of his armor which had cleaved the Imperial Eagle neatly in two, and the all-too-wet sheen of blood around it).
"I do...Father Arliss Castillar." The Priest said, walking out in front of the battle line and extending a hand.
The cavalryman took it, and the fear in Arliss' heart grew.
The man was quite pale, and his hand clammy. That he was able to even remain in his saddle was a tribute to his strength and determination.
"I have lost a great many men in the past fortnight." The cavalryman told him simply. "My unit was cut off from the main body of the reserve legion....we...we tried for two days to fight our way back to Kehesh, but there were too many....there were just too many...."
Professional soldier or no, he could not keep the emotion out of his voice, nor the tears from his eyes. Arliss gripped his forearm in a gesture of comfort common to the men of the military.
"So Kehesh has fallen then?"
"Aye....it has." The soldier let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. "We made for the Capitol with a mind to regroup, but it was all in chaos. No unit commander to report to...no organization...nothing. I tried to rally the citizens....the odd deserter that happened by, but it was no use.....so I led the men away....Ravanna is gone....she's gone."
The silence that followed those last words was extreme, and yet, Arliss knew they could not remain where they were. If Kehesh had fallen, then the Nilroggi would continue westward unopposed.
He made some quick mental calculations. Their supplies were stretched thin as it was. Medicines were scarcest of all, and yet....how could he turn these men away?
"What is your name, soldier?" He asked, breaking the silence at last.
"Duncan....Captain Duncan Fury, of the Fourteenth Imperial Cavalry, or....what's left of it."
He nodded to McDougil. "Take your men, help get these riders off their mounts....clean them up, and see to their wounds as best you can."
"But sir, we have scarce enough medicines for...."
Arliss silenced him with a hiss. "Damn you to the Eternal Fires if you do not do as I say man! Help them, and help them now!"
McDougil gave the signal, and his defenders moved forward to assist the cavalrymen.
"We'd be honored to have you travel with us, though I know not how long any of us will live."
Duncan nodded weakly. Having finally arrived at something resembling a safe haven, his strength seemed to be fading. "Th...than...k...."
He never even finished saying it, slumping forward and falling off his mount, and into Arliss Castillar's arms.
~~Ж§Ж~~
Two Weeks Later
by David Sobotka: T. McDougil in Stained Glass in Sutheron
"Get that wagon unstuck McDougil...what, do you want the Nilroggi nipping at your arse before sunset?" Duncan barked from horseback, and McDougil glowered.
Until the damned cavalryman came along, he had been responsible for the safety and well-being of the refugees....now he was...a grunt. At best.
He threw his shoulder against the frame of the wagon and gave a mighty heave. Slowly….stubbornly, it yielded from the pit of muck it had gotten stuck in. He cursed under his breath and threw himself at it all the harder....finding a practical use for his simmering anger. With a loud sucking noise followed by an almost prim-sounding "pop!" the wheel came free and rolled forward onto more-or-less dry ground.
"Try not to do that again." He told the driver, punctuating his words with a withering glare.
The driver would not meet the larger man's eyes, and meekly climbed back onto the wagon.
"Duncan, a progress report, if you please." Arliss called out as he shambled wearily forward.
Four straight days of rain had really set them back, and his aging bones were aching from too much exposure to the wet, miserable weather.
"Well, now that the rains have let up, I expect we'll be back to a faster clip."
"From half a league a day or less to a full league then, eh?"
Duncan laughed. "I fear it's not top speed, but not bad considering what we've got."
Arliss shook his head. "Duncan....your optimism is infectious, but I daresay you know full well that a pack of old crones with a hundred pounds of rocks upon their backs could likely outpace us."
"It has been so these last days, yes." The cavalryman said with a good-natured laugh. "But I think we'll be making better time now."
"How's the wound?" Duncan put his hand almost protectively to his chest at the mention of it.
"Your Clerics did their healing work well, Father Castillar....I thank you for that."
"But?"
"This cursed rain makes it throb...reminds me of how close I came to death's door."
The Priest nodded. "That you did. In fact, you ought not be out here on your horse giving orders even now."
"True enough...and how long has it been since you last slept?"
"Gods' truth, I honestly don't remember....too long I'd hazard."
"And you'd be right then....you must let the younger men carry more of the load, Father."
"Indeed....and what sort of example would that make? Me, sitting around on my arse all the day long like that damnable lout of a man calling himself Lord Jacob Mourngrym? No thank you....we lead by example, or not at all."
"Your words ring true, my friend....and, you answered your own question as to why I am out here now when I ought to be in one of the sick wagons.....times are...."
"Desperate?"
"And yet, somehow even that word seems understated."
"It does indeed, Captain....it does indeed."
A moment of comfortable silence passed between them.
"So, how goes things between you and our former Guardian, McDougil?"
Duncan shook his head sadly. "I fear he resents me and mine, sir....we displaced him."
"Yes, and you also very nearly tripled our number of available fighting men."
"I think not." Duncan replied. "Many of my men will never fight again....such wounds...." He fought off a shiver.
"Come now man....you can't honestly tell me that if the Nilroggi descended here and now, you believe in your heart that even one of your men would remain in bed."
"They would not, ‘tis true....but as to fighting like they used to....I think many of your women-folk would fare better than they."
"Well...let us hope it doesn't come to that."
"Aye....two more days and we'll reach the shore of Loch Laern....and thence, to the lands of the Harradis, if they'll have us."
"They had better...after all, something tells me that the Nilroggi won't stop just because the Harradis have a few border pickets out."
"Something tells me you're right." Duncan said with a knowing, meaningful look.
"You're an uncommonly brave man, Captain Fury."
The cavalryman looked uncomfortable with such praise. "Nay, Father....'tis the least we could do....many of my men would have died in their saddles had you not taken us in."
"Still....with your horses, you could have reached the Harradis by now...ridden on ahead of us the moment you were well enough."
"And what would that make me then? I cannot abandon my friends....I will not."
"Well, I think it's safe to say that everyone in our ragged band is glad for your presence....even McDougil, though he'd probably swallow burning pitch, rather than admit it."
That remark drew a chuckle from Duncan. "Aye....I imagine he would."
He paused a moment as a small knot of men in brown robes walked past, talking in quiet, guarded tones and occasionally casting glances over at Arliss and Duncan.
"The new arrivals...." He said softly.
"What of them?"
Two nights past, another smallish band of refugees caught up with them in the storm, and, seeking safety in numbers, Arliss' band embraced them and their rather abundant supplies.
"I'm not sure....the eight monks with them are...very odd. They keep too much to themselves for my liking."
"Well....monks tend to be that way my friend, though I confess that I've not had the pleasure of meeting them personally yet, I am rather curious though...I'd like to know what order they're from, and if they have any news of the churches and temples eastward."
"You still hold out hope that the temples were spared? Even after all I've told you? All the things I've seen with my own eyes?"
"We must have hope, Duncan. If not that, then what in the name of the HighFather is left for us to cling to?"
"I admire and respect your faith, Father....but it has helped us not at all against the Nilroggi.” He patted his sword meaningfully. “I'll cling to this...even if it's not helped us as much as I'd like...at least we've taken a few with us."
More silence, and then Arliss sighed heavily and bowed his head. "I am....so tired."
"I know, my friend....I know. Go rest a while. You've led by example enough for one day....even the gods rested, you know?"
"Tis true...but then the gods never had to worry over being gutted in their sleep by marauding Nilroggi.....still, you're right....as tired as I am, even my faith grows thin."
"Sleep then, friend....and I shall post a guard to make sure you're not disturbed."
Arliss nodded. "You're a good man, Duncan Fury. If we live through this, I shall see you knighted. You have my oath on it."
"The oath of a Priest." Duncan said, impressed and smiling sheepishly. "Then how can I refuse?"
"You cannot...and even if you did it would do no good....now if you please, kindly find that guard and let an old man rest a bit?" Arliss said with a slight, tired chuckle.
"Of course, and Arliss?"
The old man stopped and half turned around.
"Dream of better times....dream them for all of us, so that we will never forget that life was not always....like this."
"Aye.....I will."
~~Ж§Ж~~
Dissention In The Ranks
by David Sobotka: Jacob Mourngrym in Stained Glass in Sutheron
The vote was held in secret, only three days after the Gypsy Caravan joined them. Well away from the likes of Arliss and Duncan, and even from Jacob Mourngrym, who had been sympathetic to their plight.
On the run and desperate, many of the refugees had begun to feel....utterly helpless.
In time, as the leagues bore down on them and began fraying their nerves, that feeling led to frustration….desperation.
They admired and respected Arliss for his tireless leadership, and respected Duncan Fury's courage and willingness to stand by them, risking his own life and the lives of his men to provide them at least some security, when all knew they could have easily ridden on and left them to their own devices.
But there was something about the arrival of the free-spirited gypsy folk that ignited a spark in the hearts and minds of the commoners who had banded together on their terrifying, exhausting journey.
The Gypsy Lord, a young, charismatic man named Armando had started talking about taking a measure of control over their lives and their destinies...about not being led blindly by the same group of men who had gotten them into this predicament to begin with. And there was a measure of truth to that.
To be sure, neither Arliss Castillar nor Duncan Fury had been directly responsible for causing their current troubles, but they represented the archetype. The sort of leadership common in the Empire that was now crumbling apart under the relentless onslaught of the Nilroggi Horde. The sort of leadership then, that had brought ruin to everything good and stable they had ever known.
So while there was certainly no resentment toward the men who led them now, it was widely held that “their kind” were to blame for the current chaos and bloodshed swirling around them.
With all that pent-up desperation lurking not far beneath the surface, it was no wonder that the idea of self-determination held a certain appeal to it. So, the common folk met one night in secret to elect a council.
Seven souls drawn from their own ranks....seven men and women who would be their voice, and that voice would give them power….even if it was but the tiniest shred.
When you've got nothing, even a shred can seem like a glorious bounty, and so attendance at the meeting that night was high, and seven were chosen from among their ranks.
Not surprisingly, Armando the Wanderer was among the first chosen, but there were others as well. Farmers. Shepherds. Craftsmen. Even their former protector, T. McDougil (though he would never reveal to them just what the "T" stood for).
More surprising still when the charismatic Armando approached him with a plan to see that he was made Headman of the Council.
"I would be honored to have the job, of course." Armando told him quietly. "But you see, I fear that my words would not have as much weight....given that I am but a Gypsy, and oft regarded by your people as an inferior class of man for it....but you....you once bore the entire burden of defending us from our enemies....your voice would have great weight indeed."
McDougil had been honored...flattered by that. He listened with rapt attention as Armando told him how Lord Jacob, of the House of Mourngrym had recently bought a number of their fine Gypsy steeds, and that now, Armando and his Gypsies were quite flush with cash....the lure of gold was a strong one, and he could easily be persuaded to use some of his newfound wealth to sway the hearts and minds of the others on the council in exchange for....future considerations."
And McDougil readily agreed. Here was his chance! His opportunity to get back what was once his! A place of respect among the group. A place taken from him with the arrival of that damned cavalryman and Arliss' all-too-ready friendship with him.
Once again his stony features softened slightly, but this time the ghost of a smile on his face was anything but pleasant.
"Oh yes...." He whispered softly to himself as he strolled some distance from the assembly. "You pompous arses of men cast me aside like garbage at the first chance you got....but the people have spoken, and I am their voice now. I have all the power you tried to take from me, and more...."
He closed his eyes and listened to the night sounds for a moment. "...and more...."
~~Ж§Ж~~
Late in the night, Armando came to the tent of Lord Jacob Mourngrym and told him all that had transpired.
"...and, you are sure about the pickets?"
"Quite." Armando assured him.
"Then, if all goes well, a great many of our problems will soon be solved....if I know McDougil, and I assure you my lad that I do....I know his type all too well, his puffed up ego and over-inflated sense of self-worth will soon lead to confrontation, which will cause delays, and the Nilroggi picket will use the opportunity to attack."
Armando looked suddenly pained at having been reminded of the true purpose behind all the machinations of late. "Yes....but I do hope you're right about the outcome of it all....a great many lives could be lost."
"Young man," Mourngrym chided in a syrupy, condescending tone. "You don't get to be as rich as I am by being wrong....you will see. Watch and learn."
Armando shook his head and wandered back to his tent...to his own kind. And he left Mourngrym's presence feeling...vaguely corrupted.
He did not sleep very well that night, or the night after.
~~Ж§Ж~~
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