1048AT - The Road to Darkmoor

The following is a story that takes place on a journey from the Vargas Plains, to Darkmoor. Both Imperial and Royalist fought over a chest recovered by Imperials in the Vargas, which the Royalists eventually captured. This led to the Royalists deciding Darkmoor was the safest location to store and study the relic. This is a tale of that journey, as lived by the participants.

Prelude - Final Harvest, 1047AT

The Traveshian army, led an assault on Vargas territory, which resulted in a temporary hillfort being built within the plains. During this construction, a large chest was located, buried under a few meters of earth. The chest was covered in chains, with magical inscriptions, and markings around it. It had locks that held an enchantment that no mages recognised. The conclusion was that the chest would be brought back to Travesha, to be studied.
On the way back to the Trine River, the Imperial forces were overwhelmed by a Raga force who devastated their supply lines, and crippled their caravans. The Imperials had to make the difficult choice to abandon the chest and save their lives. The Raga took the chest as a prize after the battle. After much debate about what to do with it, the Raga decided to mention it to the other nations at the next summit.
Held first harvest, 1048AT, the chest was described to the Magic academy at the summit. It was agreed that the chest would best be inspected in a safe location, away from the front lines and risk of it being retaken. Darkmoor, as the head of the alliance, recommended they receive the chest, and hold it whilst the Academy inspected it to learn more. The Bloodmoon Clan would escort the chest north to Haverly, where Sir Felix of Camdoria and his army would meet them, then Camdorian forces and The Bloodmoon would continue the escort to Darkmoor. A plan had been formed.

Ambush at Theron

The road from The Vargas to Darkmoor is a long one. It travels through many regions, with hundreds of small townships and unnamed villages dotting its path. As soon as the Bloodmoon chieftain returned from the summit, and the order came to deliver the chest to Darkmoor, Arden Rockbreaker knew in his heart they'd never be coming home.
The caravan was formed in the dark hours of the morning. The strategy tent was glowing from the torches inside, as the shadows danced and swayed in the light. Thorvig exited the tent with the other Royalist leadership, he and Bjorn Wolfborn walked toward the Bloodmoon side of the encampment. "We are ready, Arden, get your things" said Thorvig, pointing toward the primitive tents being packed by the other Bloodmoon.
As the sun peaked above the mountains to the north-east, the procession began to move. The chest had been placed on one of the multiple carts laden with supplies, food, and weapons. rocking back and forth over the roughly worn and muddy road cleaving the open fields in half. The plan was to try and move the chest as quickly, and quietly as possible. At least, that was the hope. Throvig walked alongside Arden, the mud squelching beneath their boots as they both watched the carts slowly pick up the pace.
"This will be the first time going North for me," said Arden, breaking the silence as he quickly glanced over at Thorvig.
"Me too, I never thought we would actually go to Darkmoor. I wonder if the food is as good as they say."
"I hope so! I'm just hoping we don't have any company on this trip, all the northerners look tired of fighting."
Thorvig snorted, "Heh, that's just Northerners, they always look tired."
Arden looked behind them, then squinted and looked toward the front of the train.
"Where is Bjorn?"
"I'm not sure, perhaps he is scouting up ahead, or bringing up the rear." replied Thorvig, double checking as if Arden had somehow missed him.
As the caravan crossed a crest in the land, the plains opened up into massive fields of knee-high grasses, with large hulking boulders dotting it's otherwise pristine uniformity. The warm winds bent the grass double, only to changes it's mind and flip the grass back in the direction it came. Thorvig stopped. A few Theron soldiers bumping into him.
"What gives?"
"Why'd you stop, Raga?"
Thorvig squinted at a boulder a good 40 meters from him, as if he was trying to hear it speak. He grabbed his sword handle on his belt. The wind gently changed direction again, and the grass bent down to reveal the tip of a bow - which quickly ducked below the grass-line again. "IMPERIALS!" He screamed, ripping his shield from his back and wrenching his sword out in front of him. The caravan all drew weapons and shrunk into the safety of the carts.
Imperial archers, rogues and warriors clad in black cloaks swarmed from behind every rock on the landscape. Archers rained down onto the caravan as everyone who wasn't under a shield became laden with Imperial arrows. Thorvig called to the Bloodmoon Caravan leader, Vee, over the deafening sound of his shield being thumped repeatedly by arrow fire.
"Ready the horses, we must keep this caravan moving. We will hold them off, you push forward!"
Vee nodded and immediately started toward the front of the caravan. Gunther, Artos and Feyra all let out a warcry as they charged out from the caravan's safety. Gunther ran his axe down the face of his shield, snapping all the arrows off. He then turned and charged toward the Imperial scouts sprinting at the caravan, cutting them down quickly, before looking for the next. Feyra grabbed hold of the netting on one of the carts, ripping herself up atop the supplies. She nocked her bow and fired at an Imperial archer using the grass as cover, the arrow sailed true - slamming hard into the chest of the target and dropping them with a scream. Arden and Thorvig ran toward the Imperials lines, the other Bloodmoon keeping pace as the clash of shields against bodies echoed across the open field.
Vee turned, watching the Bloodmoon facing off tens of Imperials. The chest was simply too much to risk, she had a role, and it needed to be played. She silently wished them luck, before turning to yell at the caravan to pick up it's pace. No sooner had the words escaped her mouth as the head of the caravan was shot with an arrow, slumping and tumbling from the cart. Imperial scouts scaled the cart, one rogue, with a black beak on his hood leapt to the front, snatching the reigns and whipping the horses. The cart veered from the path, and started rumbling through the grass fields, toward Imperial lands. Vee screamed for royalist support, wild eyed, as she slashed through the rogues attempting to put up a delay.
"Royalists! The chest is leaving! After them!, They must not escape!"

Initial Aftermath

The Imperials staged a hasty retreat, and though the losses were high, they had their prize. They fell back toward the river bank in order to regroup for the night. What they weren't banking on was an immediate assault from the Bloodmoon and Theron, swooping in under the cover of darkness and decimating the unsuspecting Imperials. They made off with the chest, and made quick ground, catching up with the caravan by morning. The chest was back on it's way to Darkmoor.
As the Bloodmoon made way for the northern border of Queten, a raven was sent up to the Camdorian Assault on the Hallow Fields, directing Sir Felix of Camdoria to lead a detachment south in order to render aid to their ailing chances of the chest arriving safely.

The Haverly Border

The caravan was nearing the border of Haverly and Queten, a point which rounds a large flat of land adjacent to the Trine river, with Fendor on it's opposing banks. The caravan morale was incredibly low, as the wheel of one of the carts at the front crumbled, spilling the injured troops onto the roadside. The halt order was given, and horses were uncoupled to rest for the afternoon. Progress had been fast the last few days, but at the cost of food and sleep. Thorvig sat on a stone, looking out toward the Trine river, he could see Imperial tents in the distance as he sipped his waterskin.
"They will come tonight, again." came a voice from behind. Artos sat beside Thorvig without taking his gaze from the tents.
"We will be ready for them, Camdoria will arrive" Thorvig muttered, putting his waterskin back on his belt and looking toward the bloodmoon tents slowly being erected.
"I'm weary of travelling this far north, Thorvig. The northerners don't like our kind. There is a reason our giant-born are not common in their armies."
"Camdoria will come through for us. I know Sir Felix. He won't let us down. They are our allies, despite how the rest treat us." Thorvig stood, turned and walked toward the campsites, eyes glued to the Imperial tents.
The night brought bloodshed. The Imperials attacked with deadly precision. Raiding the campsite in the middle of the night after neutralizing the guards without so much as a peep. Thorvig was outside the camp when the battle ensued - he was ensuring the chest was moved further north, and returned to find the campsite ablaze, with combat engulfing the entire field. He rushed through the battlefield, cutting down any Imperial who dare stand in his way. He saw Arden, pinned by an Imperial with a beaked hood. Thorvig barreled toward him, throwing his shield and grabbing his hatchet to throw. He watched Arden's eyes widen as the rogue slipped a knife into Arden's neck.
"NooooOOO!" He screamed, throwing the hatchet and putting on a burst of speed. The rogue disappeared in a flurry of cloak, the hatchet grazing his shoulder as it ricocheted off into the night. Thorvig slid in next to Arden, witnessing the final gasps for air as he clutched for his friend, his brother, his chieftain.
Thorvig went into a rage, he grabbed Arden's Dane axe, and spun to his feet. He roughly brushed tears aside as he could feel his head steaming with pure hatred. As he chopped and bloodied tens of Imperials, he could only hear the desperate cries of his clansmen. The only thing snapping him back to reality was the sound of the Camdorian warhorn, signaling the arrival of Sir Felix and his paladins. Camdoria had arrived.
For more on this story, see: The Royal Decree at Stalfost

The Ambush at Leary

With the battle won, and the chest secured in Camdorian hands, the next journey the chest had to make was the small village of Leary, in Haverly. The road to Leary was one of ruts, jagged rocks, and defeat, as the Royalist caravan drew closer. The army had shrunk from nearly 1500, to just under 210 at the last head count. Sir Felix had left to march back to the Vargas in order to deliver Thorvig's body. At the front of the caravan trudged Archpriest Marius Suther of Camdoria. He turned his head to his squire.
“Give the command to pick up the pace to the sergeants, we are almost there, we must make it by nightfall.” His squire nodded and quickly backtracked down the line to find the sergeants spread throughout the caravan.
As they approached Leary, the village elder came to greet them.
“Who are you? Have you come to attack our poor village?!”
“No, old man, we are here seeking shelter, we have been attacked on route and are in need of supplies and rest.”
“Attacked? I don’t see anybody attacking you”
Marius stopped, squinting at the man, confused “No, we were attacked, before!”
“Before what? What? Who attacked you?”
“Imperial forces”
“Oh, by the four, no! We are proud Royalists; you won’t set foot in this town whilst I’m alive!”
“No, look, WE are Royali- is anybody else here we can talk to?”
The old man gestured to a group of soldiers strapping bags of supplies to carts in the village centre.
“Excellent, someone with sense” Muttered Marius, pressing on past the old man, caravan in tow.
The caravan pulled up and began to gather in the village centre as Marius and a few Camdorian Knights walked over to the solders, who had now begun to gather their belongings and put on their packs.
“You’re leaving?” started Marius
“Why yes, we are being summoned to Haverly in order to prepare for a siege in the next month or so, sorry ole chap.”
The Camdorians watched as the soldiers proceeded out of the village and down the road toward Haverly. It seemed likely they’d have to defend the village themselves.
The caravan was finished unloading, the chest was in the Village elder’s hut (long story), and a fire had been created in the village centre. As people were settling down for the night, and sentry pits were being dug, the call for Imperials spotted came. The Crows set upon the village with deadly speed, firing a hail of arrows into the camp, and flooding the centre with fighters.
Chaos erupted as Marius instructed his knights to protect the elder’s hut at all costs. They formed a line at the door as Marius moved to try and protect the Elder, who was wandering around, bewildered by the fighting. As he approached the Elder, an Imperial scout beat him there and gently touched the old man’s shoulder, coaxing him away. The man startled, charged up a spell and blasted her across the centre. Marius stopped in his tracks.
The man was obviously quite lost, as he wandered around blasting everyone and everything that confused or frightened him. Marius decided he best focus on the chest instead. Turning around, he saw rogues tugging the chest from the back door of the hut.

“Camdoria! The Chest!” He exclaimed, charging forward, and pushing through an Imperial line to cut the rogues off before they could leave with the chest.
Blackness.

Marius opened his eyes to see embers flying through the pitch night sky. He could hear the sound of screams and battle over the ringing in his ears. He lifted his head and tried to focus on his surroundings. Leary was alight. The houses burned brightly as plumes of billowing smoke filled the night sky. Imperial soldiers began filtering between the buildings and out of the village. Marius squinted at the horizon and caught a glimpse of something that made his blood run cold.
Camdorian knights marching away, toward Haverly. He rolled over and screamed to them. The village was near empty, save for multiple soldiers writhing in agony. As Marius stood up, he realized the chest had vanished. He hoped the knights had it with them but knew better. He stumbled and fell back to his knees as the village elder toddled along in front of him and looked down to see Marius.
“Oh! Aren’t you that strange man who asked if we were Imperials?”
Marius looked at the man, stone-faced and unimpressed.
“Well! I’ll have you know, we here in this village live a peaceful life. Never seen a single Imperial in these parts.” He wandered off, the village crackling and hissing into the night.

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To read the next part of this plot thread - please see 1049AT - The End of the Road

Start Date

37th Final Harvest 1047AT