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King Tarok

Lavishly decorated with gold, gem, and silver lacework, the Grand Hall of the palace in Zarkan, was a thing of great beauty, especially with its eight golden pillars. The light that poured in through the archways led out onto majestic balconies that overlooked the lake, and shone sunlight on a gem-studded throne made of brown ashwood that sat in the middle of the dais.

Tarok however had always felt like it was too much. It was like they wished to remind their subjects how much poorer they were, compared to the throne. Something Tarok had always believed to be distasteful. True, they had the wealth to pay for such splendor, and it was only meant for visiting dignitaries. But Tarok had always seen the Grand Hall as an element of the past, where enemies were meant to be overwrought by their wealth. A simple tactic, and yet one that had not always worked in their favor with half a dozen wars in the last few generations.

Still, that was not what had made him nervous this day. Dressed in ceremonial robes of fine golden silk that had silver panels running down the sides. He looked down at the great round table, and studied the detailed map that covered it. The mini iron figurines that were placed on top, painted blue and red. Red for the enemy. And blue for the Legion. As well as black for forces destroyed in the field. The push along the Caldasher border marked by the graves of thousands, each black figure, a loss of far too many lives. With the main enemy thrust now heading further inland.

The hopes that the battle in the Great Divide had been a single incident, washed away as High Captain Bertal, a huge bull-nosed minotaur, stood over the map, his face grim with ill-foreboding. "As I have explained your, majesty, I do not believe we have the luxury of defense any longer. With the loss of eight of our twenty-three legions, I fear it will only be a matter of time, before the dark ones press on to the Capital. If we are to stand any chance of defeating them, we must turn them back here, at Karx."

Hands clasped together behind his back, Tarok tried to ignore the chill in his bones, but it had been many years since they had been at war. The histories spoke of other battles in the past, and yet this one felt different, more finite. The reports that came in, said that the only prisoners they took were from his own people, whereas the mercenaries were butchered to the last warrior.

"What exactly do you propose, High Captain?"

Sharp grey eyes looking up from a face that had seen too much war, Bertal leaned back a little, horns gleaming in the sunlight, and said, "we gather five of our Legions here, and make our stand in the field."

But even without the look of doubt in the Captain's eyes, Tarok, Highlord of Baroq'sha, and in times of battle, Lord of War, knew that it wouldn't be enough. They needed more warriors, an army of mages, anything to combat the power of the dark ones, and yet there was only one way that could happen.

Nodding his head in dismissal, Tarok watched the legionary officer leave, and not for the first time felt a flutter of fear at what he was about to do. The counsel of grand lords would be gathering, and for once instead of remaining silent, he meant to propose a new act. One that would forever change the history of his people.

Gregor

(As a mercenary in the hire of the Legion, you are paid 10 gold pieces each week.)

+10 HP.

+10 GP.

With one eye on the surrounding countryside, and one eye on Lytan and Sara who seemed to be no worse for wear despite their ordeals, the children rode together on the back of a grey gelding, while Gregor tried to listen to Khorasan. The old elven mage in his dust-stained white robes, choosing this moment to explain the vagaries of magic, the constant variations between light and dark energy, but after two minutes of hearing the old elf prattle on about its theoretical applications, Gregor had stopped listening for the most part, and focused his attentions on the road.

The brown brick stonework that was called the King's Road, now crammed full of refugees in wagons, carts, and carriages, all of them heading east towards the Capital, and safety. The steel-plated legionaries that shielded the slow moving column, spread out into squadrons of eight warriors to guard the entire perimeter, while centaurs in bronze breastplates scouted ahead of them. The few times Gregor had seen the half human, half horse warriors up close, they had spat into the dust at his feet, at seeing the gelding treated like a pack animal, their tanned faces dark with anger. But besides the children, and Myrissa who had chosen to stay and take care of them, most people walked. But even that did not seem to stop the pricks from flinging up dust in Gregor's face each time they rode past.

Bristling with repressed anger as the dust hit him yet again, Gregor had half a mind to cripple one of the bastards, when he realized that Khorasan had asked him a question.

Bushy white eyebrow cocked upward in annoyance, he asked, "I said are you paying attention to me? Truly, Gregor, how do you ever hope to unlock your potential, if you won't listen?!..."

Mind unable to help but drift off again, Gregor tried to imagine what it would be like to handle magical energies like some damn mudsap of a mage, but that had never really been of interest to him. Besides ways to avoid combat magic, he liked nothing better than a good sword, or crossblade, and not to mention he didn't like the idea of wiggling his fingers about like some damn pukedrinker. Still, if he could discover a few new ways to shield himself against their attacks, that was something he was willing to learn. Hell, he could think of a few times where a mage's fireball had nearly blown off his head.

(Ask about Shadow Hunters.)

Mouth curved into a pleasant smile at the thought of catching a few twinkle-hands offguard, he noticed Khorasan's look of consternation, and quickly asked, "What do you know about Shadow Hunters?"

And for once, the elven mage grew silent, brown eyes crinkled up in worry, while fingers combed through his thick white beard. "Shadow Walkers, a dangerous topic, but then I suppose you already knew that, else you would not have asked me. Still," releasing a heavy breath, he looked over at the children who seemed to be listening to Myrissa tell a story, before he continued on, "very well, but we shall return to our earlier discussion. Now let us see where to begin."

"I would first go back to the very beginning to the very first Shadow Walker, but since I can sense your growing impatience, I will try to be brief. During my studies on Ne'even, I learned that the Dark Ones had not one but four different factions, one of whom was named after the Shadow, and for good reason. As a part of their initiation into the inner circle of the Shadow Fang, they would each swear half their souls away to their demon overlords, and bind a part of themselves to the underworld. It's what allows them to navigate the between realms, which we see as shadows and smoke. It is also the reason for their unusual appearance."

Fingers stiffened into his fists as he recalled his last battle with them, he asked, "how do I kill them?"

+1 Morale.

(Ask about Dark Mages.)

Mouth curved into a pleasant smile at the thought of catching a few twinkle-hands offguard, he noticed Khorasan's look of consternation, and quickly asked, "What do you know about Dark Mages?"

And for once, the elven mage grew silent, brown eyes crinkled up in worry, while fingers combed through his thick white beard. "Demon Worshippers, a dangerous topic, but then I suppose you already knew that, else you would not have asked me. Still," releasing a heavy breath, he looked over at the children who seemed to be listening to Myrissa tell a story, before he continued on, "very well, but we shall return to our earlier discussion. Now let us see where to begin."

"I would first go back to the very beginning to the very first Dark One, and of our traitorous brother Volemar, but since I can sense your growing impatience, I will try to be brief. During my studies on the Isles, I have learned a great deal to do with the Dark Ones and their power, and yet in so many ways they still remain a mystery. Much of what is known about them is second hand at best, and yet there are some definitives. We know that they make pacts with demons in order to tap into the demonic energies. We also know that they offer souls in exchange. However as far back as can be remembered, we still do not understand their motives as a whole."

Eyes rolled up in annoyance, Gregor grunted sourly, "I was actually interested in more ways to kill them."

+1 Morale.

(Let him continue his lecture on the origins of magic.)

Mouth curved into a pleasant smile at the thought of catching a few twinkle-hands offguard, he noticed Khorasan's look of consternation, and nodded his head for him to continue.

But dear gods the elf could make a battle between dragons sound boring as he explained the fundamental differences between light energy which used nature, and demonic energies which came from the underworld, and was harnessed through the use of exchange.

Eventually having had enough, he simply grunted, "Can't you just tell me how to use it? Or better yet just show me how to kill."

+1 Morale.

Left eye twitching derisively, Khorasan let out a snort of annoyance. "It is not so simple as that, you bullheaded goat. It takes years of patient study, even decades to become a full mage, and yet you wish to play around with a weapon that could destroy everyone here. If not for that potential of yours, I'd say you were better off in a dungeon, one where you can't escape. But as it is, you are as much a danger to yourself and everyone else. You must learn patience. Otherwise you will never be able to combine the two worlds inside of you!"

Unsurprised the old pukedrinker was trying to go back on his word, Gregor snapped, "I don't care how you do it. Just show me already."

The frustration on Khorasan's face, turned to wild laughter. "Why? So you can go back to killing? You have a sword for that. And I have seen how you use it."

But if the rebuke was meant to put him off, Gregor only stared ahead of him. The outlying farms that cropped up, became more frequent, the further they traveled east, as were the dust-stained orcs on the roads. The black smoke he saw rising up in the distance, pointed to half a dozen attacks at the least. Not to mention the few goblins they had seen for themselves, the wily creatures for now keeping a safe distance away as legionaries drove them off. But that would not last long. Sooner or later, they would attack, and he needed to be ready.

Eyeing the sour-faced elf with a sideways glance, he eventually grunted, "you promised."

Which caused the elven mage to smile, and wave his arms up in the air. "And since when do humans keep their promises. No, there's no need to glower at me like that. I will keep my word, although I do wonder if maybe I should teach you another way," he finished, his hand tugging at his beard thoughtfully.

Then with a lopsided smile as something occurred to him, Khorasan dipped his fingers into the leather satchel at his side, and poked around until he came out with a sparkling red vial. Lytan, whose curiosity was peaked, urged the grey gelding up beside them. "What's that?" He asked.

Smile broadening as he held the vial up into the sunlight, Khorasan grinned, "why this, my little humanoid, is the rawest form of magical energy. It's not as good as simply drawing the energy into yourself, but this will work just as well, if only to nudge this, blockhead, along. Now, I must warn you, Gregor, the effects will not last long, and they can be quite disorienting."

Hand reaching out for the bottle held out to him, Gregor felt a quiver of anticipation, as well as a deep-seated hunger that he had never known before. With this, every mercenary company would be clamoring for his services, kings would pay ransoms to have him, and the whole world would tremble at his coming.

Swallowing the liquid down in a single gulp, he pictured the glory he could achieve. Closed his eyes for a moment, and felt the coarse red liquid swish around inside him. The bitter taste of leaves thick on his tongue as Lytan's blue eyes sparkled with interest. "well?"

But besides the odd feeling in his stomach, Gregor felt no different. Everything looked the same. Myrissa who had drawn up closer to be near the children, peered down at him doubtfully from her dapple mare, when Gregor finally asked, "Was something supposed to happen?"

Brown eyes boggled in his skull, Khorasan looked utterly dumbfounded, with the elf opening and closing his mouth, before he shook his head in resignation, and let out a rueful chuckle. "I suppose I should have known there was a reason, you could not learn on your own. Even a redling like yourself, should have been able to at least sense the magical currents in the air. If I had to guess, there has to be something else stopping you."

Memories of the violet-eyed woman flashed into the back of Gregor's mind, and again he wondered who she was? Before he felt his stomach churn, and let out a loud burp, that seemed to go on forever. The giggle he heard from Sara, was nothing compared to the boy’s howls of laughter, while Myrissa, who had exchanged knowing looks with Khorasan, grinned openly, until Gregor uttered a growl, which seemed to have no effect on them.

Cheeks flushed red, he considered storming off, and leaving all these miserable bastards behind, but in which direction to go. To the left he could see goblins watching them from the nearby treeline, along with a squadron of legionnaires moving off at a brisk trot to clear them away. It also looked like one of the wagons had broken down behind them, and could use a bit of help. Not that Gregor was much for manual labor, but it would keep his mind busy at least for a little while.

Lastly with the column temporarily halted on the road, a few of the merchants and peddlers were selling goods from the back of their wagons, and were guarded by what looked to be big beefy warriors that eyed the mass of bedraggled refugees with distaste.

What do you do?

Choice 1. Go goblin hunting?

Choice 2. Help repair the wagon?

Choice 3. Check the merchants and peddlers for supplies?

Choice 4. Pick a fight with the centaurs?