With a blind eye and a slit throat

Rain had hampered the journey of Rüerik Darkgalleon, the self-proclaimed uniter of Bravallon and its grass-covered mounds. Barely three score men were on their journey back to Galleonkeep after first losing their major battles against the arcanists of Arc Praesidium and then after being harassed out of their own capital. Having lost his ships and most of his army, the always vigil Rüerik had ordered three quarters of his men to remain on constant alert for usurpers, bandits and other ne'er-do-wells that had taken to stalking the roads while his troops were gone.
The Warlord looked now upon his battled and bruised men gathering around their campfires. Whispers traded ears and pleading, desperate gazes journeyed far from the campsite, far from their weapons and far from their duties. Rüerik felt a single raindrop travel down from his forehead to the peak of his nose as he watched in silence at his troops from inside of his commanders tent. Time to cull the meek and to forge the broken back into true men would come, but discord was least needed now.
"Let them complain", the lone warlord mumbled. "Put some food in their bellies and women in their laps, and they will shut up and listen", the lone whispers continued.
As the world had turned over onto the failed conqueror, thought of home was all that kept the man sane. Dreams and hopes of shedding the heavy weight of his plate armor, resting his fingers from gripping his warmaul and of sleeping in a decent bed in a place where it was warm had reached even the great man that was Rüerik Darkgalleon. For how would a king deny himself the simple pleasures in life, especially after such a excruciating trip?

* * *

The very next day the travelling warlord was met with a sight that made even the sturdiest of his men who had survived the hardships of war and of being treated as villains by their kinsmen into cheering madmen, like survivors on the endless deserts of Ashta'ai that had finally caught a glimpse of an oasis. For there it was in its full might, the manor-turned-keep that had originally been Rüerik's central point of operations: Galleonkeep.
Built on top of a solid hillside, Galleonkeep had supported the very hill it rested on with spruce logs that covered the southern side of the great keep, and opened the view from the manor proper into a beautiful horizon that stretched all the way over the vibrant blues and adamantines of the Herald Sea. On top of this supported hill, there was the keep itself. Constructed from the same hard oakwood than Rüerik's best ships are built from, the keep was covered by a square-shaped sturdy stone wall that gave it enough room for a large courtyard, and that was left open only from the side of the vast hill.
Like a protected flower, the Galleonkeep bloomed in middle of this protection and was visible to the whole coast with its open hillside. The keep itself sprouted out like a living thing with its peculiar five-pronged shape and domed roofs reminiscent of boat keels. At the center of this large keep-structure there was a small loft, peaking up half-a-stories higher than the rest of the building with walls covered in small slits for windows, where one could survey all of the keep yards and the distant shoreline.
"My Lord, the men are behaving in an unbecom-...", a captain, one of the two left approached Rüerik and spoke, but was cut short by the homesick warlord.
"Let them revel, we're home and they have done their duty", Rüerik replied, even if he gave a knowing look towards the deep, dark spruce forest of Woewoods. Attacks from wood elves were not uncommon, especially in this area, but the woods seemed peaceful and welcoming of the returning warlord. "And as you let them, partake as well. Make sure that there are enough sober men at the keep to remain at watch at the gate. Send any inquisitive busybodies to calm themselves in the dungeons until the next morning and make it clear the men are not to talk about what has happened to the common people."
With series of heavy clacks, the iron gates of Galleonkeep rose in front of their master and allowed the exhausted warband to return home. Horns were flaring and bells were banging as the lord of the castle had returned safely home. No-one dared to approach the unhinged warlord, who had obviously turned his gaze far away from his followers.
The slight ruckus that naturally came as people relished on their lord returning was instantly silenced as a young maid, claiming lovership with one of Rüeriks men was beaten unconcious. One of the two captains, with a blood-stained gauntlet declared to the shocked crowd: "Lord Rüeriks success shall not be questioned! Hold your invasive tongues and wait for the Lord to make the announcements on our unification himself!"
As soon as Rüerik pushed open the iron-reinforced gates of Galleonkeep, he could hear the scattering of his men behind him to reach the barracks as soon as possible and to get rid of their supplies. The warlord violently pushed the gates behind him to a close and as he was alone inside of his keep, the conqueror shaked.
Pathetic magic-users! The warlord cursed in his mind as he ripped his gauntlets, throwing them onto the cold stone floor. He had obviously miscalculated the miraculous abjuration magics used by Arc Praesidium, and their political allegiances. Worst of all: The desperate savages of Gudovan were enough to rally against him, to kick a hound already kicked as he was returning to his seat in Rudderdam.
Rüerik rested his forehead against one of the decorative pillars of the hall, breathing heavily as a small earthen smell reached his nose. Beginning to remove his plate shoulders and armor in fury in which he had soaked for weeks to no end. The smell was still there, was it his own, ragged breath?
The peace of his home only enraged him further, as Rüerik lifted his heavy plate armor over his head and let it fall down to the ground. In all his imperfection Rüerik saw the despicable, twisted version of himself that his enemies must've seen: a powerhungry tyrant. Everything Rüerik had done had, in his mind, been done to bring unity against the growing elven threat of the land.
The warlords breath stopped for a moment, as he had unbuckled the armor covering his legs. Soon, the conqueror dashed upstairs to the small loft in middle of the keep and began searching through the drawers of his desk. Again his wild mind was racing, bringing him solutions as his people would wait on a response soon.
Walking to a window slit, Rüerik had began to form a plan. A plan on a naval siege and on regaining his respect from his underlings. As Rüeriks already shaddered mind had began to fix itself, the warlord turned around to see four elves with bruised copper-like skin, covered in leathers and from which three had their arrows pointed at the conqueror.
One stood out from the rest and approached, with a mask crafted from the bark of a spruce the elven spoke in broken common tongue: "Cruel, cruel Rüerik. Always turning a blind eye to those not in front of him", the elf approached further, resting his hand on a bone dagger.
As Rüerik recognised the insult on his journey of war, the warlord furrowed his brows. "I-... The fair people of Galleonkeep have not encroached on the Woewood, or harmed your people, elf! We have just returned, battled and bruised from a war with another nation and have no ill will towards your people!"
It was hard to determine as the elfs head turned from one side to another, tilting nearly jovially, that was the elf amused or seeking for another reply. "Not in the past decade, no- perhaps that peace was to continue, but perhaps not. We know of your... reputation, Tyrant Rüerik!"
The earthen smell hit the nose of the conqueror again. Rüerik only now understood the extent of what was happening: The elves were waiting for him, they had somehow breached Galleykeep even before Rüeriks arrival. In his sweat-moisted travelling garments without any weapons on hand, Rüerik was taken aback as the elf approached the warlord and placed his bone-made dagger to the tyrants throat, turning them around to have a view of outside in between one of his slit windows.
"Like a foolish boar running after a prey, you do not see the cliff's edge as it approaches" the elf whispered. Rüerik's eyes flared as he saw how dozens of bark-covered figures rose from the hillside, having hidden themselves in between the ancient spruce logs. The elven threat approached without making a sound, single arrows flying and causing screams of terror in whoever witnessed another be falled by one. "We are always there, human. When you're battling with your neighbors, going on your hunts or training your children to ride on a horseback... We are there, watching. This land is not yours, and you have overstayed you welcome."
For the first time in his life, the warlord pleaded "Wait, wait!"
The elf shouted: "I have already waited for two centuries! This is a mercy, true cruelty would've been pushing your people to the sea the day you came", the elf hissed as the bone dagger carved, leaving behind a trail of richly pouring crimson as the last sight of Rüerik was the sight of his life-long enemies finally gaining the upper hand, by having waited just under the warlords eye.