Shattered Ambitions, War, Lust, and Peace

CRIMSON PLAINS OF BHEL'ZERA, NEAR THE SEACOAST, ON THE BORDER OF THE THELCORIAN EMPIRE AND THE LANDS OF SAR'ADUL

Dramatis Personae:

1) Sir Alidos Draven, Paladin of the Holy Imperial Guard, appointed by the Emperor himself - in overall charge of the Thelcorian Imperial army on the field. A stoic pragmatist, often at odds with his more passionate, hot-headed younger sister, but they make a formidable pair, in battle. Rumoured to be involved with a mercenary captain, which he categorically denies. A very deliberate, tactical warrior, focusing on defensive stances and exploiting enemy openings, in battle.

Specialises in the usage of bastard swords, arming swords, and heavy or kite shields, while being clad in full gothic plate, in battle. Does not wear a helmet, preferring unimpeded vision. His very good strength and endurance, combined with martial skill and long experience, makes him a formidable opponent, anywhere on the field.

2) Lady Elestria Draven, Alidos's twelve years younger sister, and second-in-command, rank Knight Commander of the Holy Imperial Guard. Strong. Beautiful. Passionate. Involved in a secret affair with Inon, Son of Mardul, finding him a 'real man', unlike the stuck-up, prim and proper suitors that tend to pursue and annoy her, Sir Guall being a prime example. If made public, it would be a scandal of empire-shattering proportions. Fearless in battle, but more due to passion, then skill, getting her rank due to her brother's influence. Utterly incompetent tactician, relying on her brother's orders, and her field captains for advice.

Favours large, two-handed claymore swords in battle, for their reach, power, and simplicity of use, and a heavy Gothic plate similar to her brother's, capitalising on her considerable strength and stamina. Does not wear a helmet, as she finds it claustrophobic.

3) Sir Corvyn Guall, a young, relatively inexperienced Knight in the Imperial Guard. One of the company-captains serving under Knight-Commander Elestria, he is her primary sounding board, for tactical advice on the field. For his part, the man is hopelessly in love with the beautiful Elestria, masking it behind courtly, slightly stuck-up mannerism, but she won't give him the time of day, and he lacks the courage to profess her feelings for her. A competent warrior, his talents however lie more in the area of strategy and tactics, a talent which his cold-shouldered commander recognises and appreciates, even if she remains cold to his attentions.

He uses arming swords and medium shields in battle, while clad in a light field plate mail suit, a standard setup for most Knights, to a reasonable degree of skill. Like his captains, he prefers not to wear a helmet, for purposes of awareness on the field. A very by-the-book soldier, he lacks the initiative or ferocity of some of the more visible and inspiring warriors, not to mention physical attributes, but his command of battlefield situation and recognising evolving opportunities to exploit in the enemy disposition of forces, makes him a valuable field commander.

4) Mardul Gula'Hez Hadaad, Chieftain of the Unified Tribes of Sar'Adul, sworn enemy of the Thelcorian Empire, nicknamed the 'Butcher of Thelcor', in the previous raiding campaigns he led against the Empire. Unlike his son, he is cordial towards the Dorzian Amazons, as his grandmother was one of them. Architect of their alliance. Despite his age, still a formidable warrior, favouring more reserved, yet relentless tactics, capitalising on his great strength rather then speed. Will not overcommit his forces.

Wields heavy battle axes, halberds, and other polearms in battle, for their reach and power. Like most tribals, wears very light, patchwork armour, due to the Tribes' lack of armour smithing expertise.

5) Inon Hama'Hez Hadaad, Son of Mardul, heir to the Sar'Adul barbarians' Unified throne. Secret lover of Lady Elestria. Despises the Dorzian Amazons, despite their momentary alliance. In large part due to his...nearly-lethal, for both sides... marriage with the fiercely independent, uncontrollable Strega Oli'fyr, current Warmatron. Huge, fearsome, physically imposing warrior, but his rage-fueled berserker fighting style lacks focus and moderation, tending to overcommit, both himself and his men. Nonethless, the mere sight of the berserking warrior has been known to demoralise the enemy and overcome them with fear, making them easy prey.

A versatile warrior, wields either a Warblade+heavy shield, or a pair of Warblades in battle, sometimes a heavy war hammer, depending on the opposition, their armour, and the presence/absence of archers in the field. Wears patchwork armor like most tribals, he prefers to be skilled in many arms, relying on his great strength to shore up any shortcomings, rather then mastering a single one. To his mind, brute force rules the battle.

6) Strega Oli'fyr, Warmatron of the Dorzian Matriarchy of Sar'Adul, an uneasy ally of the Unified Tribes. They do not get along, but they have a common enemy in the Thelcorian Empire. She hates Inon, due to their... failed relationship... in the past. Infamous for her utter refusal to commit to a relationship, which she considers a 'prison'. Also infamous for... exploiting... enemy male captives, having an eye especially for those prim-and-proper 'knight' types that the enemy is so fond of. Fierce warrior due to her tall frame, and enormous, even by male standards, physical strength, but enrages easily and, overcommits easily.

She likes to wield a variety of weapons, from heavy battle spears and lighter throwing javelins, to scimitars, sabres, and other curved one-handed swords, to flanged maces and heavy morning stars, paired with a heavy shield, depending on the opposition on the field. Skilled in all of them, backed by her physicality, but not excelling in any one of them, she is very much a brute-force fighter, strikingly similar in mentality, to Inon. Like most Dorzians, she wears a quilted armour made from animal hides, and a pair of yak-horn shoulderpads plus a jawbone faceplate, a symbol of her station as Warmatron.

7) Arisa Mar'eyir, Head Huntress of the Dorzian Rangers, an archer company of the Dorzian Matriarchy. Second-in-Command of the Dorzian amazon forces, on the field. A more level-headed counter to Strega's impulsive savagery, and a strategic mind, both in battle and overally, keeping check on the Warmatron's sometimes-foolhardy plans. Fiercely lesbian, attracted to Strega, despite utter lack of return interest from her boss. Loyal to a fault, but... unimaginative.

Arisa is a master of the bow. Long and short alike, she has dedicated her life to archery, and her physique supports very heavy draw-weight bows. She can defend herself hand-to-hand or with short blades if needed, but front line is not where she prefers to be, in battle. Wears a leather armour combined with tradition Dorzian hide-made accessories.

8) Alana Serkios, leader of the Iron Wolverines, a mercenary company on the payroll of the Thelcorian Empire. Leads a detachment of her mercs, in the ranks of the Imperial forces in the field, but is under the overall command of Sir Draven. Rumoured to be... involved... with him, in certain gossip circles. Not surprising, given her similarly calm, stoic personality. Excellent warrior, favouring skill and focus over zeal and ferocity in battle.

A specialist in the usage of one-handed arming swords, light battleaxes, and medium shields, while clad in segmented splint mail, and an open-faced, medium helmet, Alana, as is common for mercenaries, combines mobility and defence in a harmonious whole, comfortable anywhere on the battlefield. While strong enough, she relies more on skill, speed and endurance, then brute force.

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Awash in the crimson flame of the setting sun across the plain, unimpeded by forest, a vista for which they had earned their name, the Plains of Bhel'Zera were conspicuously quiet, after last morning's fierce battle. The crimson in the cloudless, star-speckled sky, was matched by the crimson of spilled blood on the grassy soil, interspersed with cherry-blossom trees, as cooling bodies in their hundreds, littered the untouched nature. The air, usually vibrant with the scent of blooming blossoms and soothing winds from the East, across the sea, was now heady, with the metallic odor of blood, choking out the air. Death had descended on the silent plain, and even the chirping of songbirds had vanished, for the evening. Only the ominous whistling of the warm wind from the sea, interrupted it, as it fluttered the scalps and clothing on the slain bodies scattered all over. On the horizon, the majestic peak of Mount Sar'Adul, could be seen, perpetually capped in snow.

The mountain constituted the centrepiece of the Unified Tribes' territory, roughly a tenday's ride to the North, as a warhorse under full burden galloped. It's lower slopes littered with villages and fortresses of it's many barbarian tribes, which made up the greater whole of the nation itself. Throughout it's history, the area was a chaos of small-scale conflicts and grievances, as it's many tribes constantly warred for dominance. So it should be right now, as well, were it not for the greater threat of the Thelcorian Empire, encroaching from the South, along the coast.

Not that it wasn't a long time coming. The barbarian tribes of Sar'Adul had long made a habit, of launching raids into the Empire's northern Outmarches, looting and pillaging villages and towns, raiding trade routes, and taking slaves. It had been going on for nearly hundred and fifty years, ever since the earliest days of Eyhorian Age, and the Empire's first settlements on the shores of Bhel'Zhera. Throughout the decades, the Empire was too focused on it's powerful southern adversaries, to have the luxury of doing more then repelling the persistent barbarian attacks from the North. But lately, the attacks had become more frequent, and more damaging, culminating in the Massacre of Thelcor Onnis, which earned the current Unified Tribes king his nickname of Butcher. An entire town was razed to the ground, all of it's inhabitants put to the sword, or enslaved. Yet it was all thanks to the Thelcorians' continuing slow, but steady resource-driven expansion northward. And the barbarians were having none of it. They had no interest in being assimilated into 'civilised' Thelcorian society, they had no intention of letting themselves be subsumed into something that they very well realised, would erase their cultural identities. They were primitive, but they were not stupid. Thus, they had put aside their own differences, to marshall a massive army, to counter the Imperial encroachment.

And they were proving a formidable adversary, on the level of any the Telcorians have ever faced, even in spite of their primitive equipment and fighting mentality, having fought the massed armies of Thelcorian footmen led by the Imperial Guard, to a standstill. Born and raised in the unforgiving North, reared in a brutal, survival-of-the-strongest barbarian society, they were physically imposing, beyond most of what their more civilised, 'softer' adversaries could offer.

The plains covered in dead, bore mute testimony of that. Fully armoured Knights, dedicated footmen and men-at-arms, all well-trained and professionally equipped, lay dead in equal numbers, to the barely-clothed, yet huge, intricately tattooed and scarred barbarian warriors, who fought without fear, and primal ferocity. All their superior equipment had managed to do thus far, was level the field. But it gave them no decisive advantage. Likewise, the barbarians' ferocity was met with steel and shield, which frequently blunted even the most primal and fierce of minds and bodies.

It was a standstill. A bloody, brutal standstill on the Plains, which had thus far lasted over a month, while the casualties mounted on both sides, claiming over 30,000 souls, in total. Neither was willing to relent. Neither was willing to negotiate. The Thelcorians were massing siege engines and catapults, down the far bank of the estuary just to the South, hoping they would allow them to break the back of the Unified Tribes' resistance, once they transported them over via a fleet of ferries, into range of the main Barbarian fortifications, yet those units were continually harried by the quick, stealthy, lethal Dorzian Amazon archers, who knew the territory far better, and used it to cross the river at unexpected points, during nights, and ambush the rallying siege troops, inflicting heavy losses. Over and over again. They would be repelled, over and over again, with heavy losses of their own, but they were doing their job - not allowing the Imperials to consolidate, while their infantry continued to be engaged in a bloody slugfest with the main Barbarian force, on the Plains themselves, without the benefit of siege support.

The situation was untenable. For both sides, as they would eventually drive each-other past the point of total attrition. It would take a miracle, to tip the balance, to any one side.

***

UNIFIED TRIBES' WAR COUNCIL... MAIN BARBARIAN FORTIFICATION

A large bonfire lit up the crimson-hued starry sky, as a semicircle of hide-clad figures gathered, to sit cross-legged around the bonfire, at regular intervals. Six in total. Chieftain Mardul Gula'Hez Hadaad himself, a silver-haired old man carrying himself with pride and dignity, his iron chest rippling with muscle, despite his age, flanked by his firstborn son Inon, of the Hama'Hez subclan. The hulking, brooding, shoulder-length haired giant threw something casually on the bonfire. It was a severed head of a Knight, looking positively diminutive in his massive hand, gripped by the scalp, as he threw it. The head looked mangled, it's facial structure broken, testimony of the... non-verbal persuasion... Inon had applied on the man, before beheading him.

"He would not share his secrets. Nor secrets of his warriors' deployment." - he grunted, dismissively, flexing, muscles moving visibly under his bronzed skin.

His father nodded gravelly, before he spoke in a vaguely... regretful... tone. A tone of a man who had seen too much war and death, in his life. Despite his younger, savage years, Mardul had lived too long, not to develop a long, measured view. A part of him would like nothing better, then for those arrogant Telcorians to withdraw back to their lands, and leave his realm in peace. A part of him would have even been open to certain... concessions... in return for peace, as he was well aware that the enemy had their own reasons for this war. But another, larger part of him, realised that everything was going according to plan. The nickname the Imperials gave him, the Butcher... he would be lying to himself if he hadn't earned it. Him and his people. There was plenty for their enemy to be enraged about. Plenty for them to fight with conviction for. Plenty for them to keep this war going, for a while. Hopefully long enough. Long enough before the enemy tires. Long enough before his own people realise the truth.

"One must give our foe credit, for conviction. As foolish as it may be." - as the other attendant, this one a regular warrior, put a small stool under the Chieftain, for him to sit on.

As the three seated themselves, a female alto voice spoke. It belonged to a tall, ritually war painted, fierce-looking, broad shouldered, crimson-haired maiden adorned with a pair of yak horns, scars on her face and most of her hard body, with arms and legs that looked cleft and sculpted from a mountain rockface, easily as powerful as any of the males now seated around the fire. She was flanked by two of her own attendants, one of them a wiry, white-haired vixen, with an intricately curved bow slung across her back.

"For a foe to share his secrets, he must be... motivated properly. I am skilled in making Telcorian men talk to me. Willingly. Gratefully. It is easy to cut a head off or bash a face in. It is not easy to make it talk first, poor Inon." - the woman purred, contempt clear in her tone.

The hulking man bristled at that, locking eyes with his former mate, eyes narrowing, but his father lifted a hand, speaking in a low, yet resonant tone.

"Peace, Matron Strega. My son is persuasive enough. Unless you claim to have gained more knowledge, through your... games... with captives, thus far?"

The woman had to concede the point, absently cracking her knuckles. Yet her eyes betrayed her latent defiance.

"Not yet... But at the very least, they do talk to me, instead of just snarl and spit, like at Inon. It is only a matter of time, until they reveal something useful during my couplings with them, before I kill them." - she stated, her eyes still on Inon, as mugs of mead were being put in front of each of them.

"WHORE! You couple with weaklings, but reject me!" - the man bellowed, throwing his mead mug hard at Strega's face. She ducked out of reflex, leaping to her feet, face spreading into an ear-to-ear fierce grin. The thrown mug shattered into clay pieces, on a tree twenty paces behind, with enough force to leave an indent in the tree's bark.

"YES! I like my men broken, obedient and pliable. You are not! You are only good for fighting with, not fucking with! And you learned the hard way, that I can not be ordered around, like those village girls of yours, that throw themselves at your feet for you to take!" - she mocked him, hand resting on the blade at her hip, adopting a low crouch, eyes blazing. The wiry woman next to her briefly tensed up, before shaking her head slightly to herself. She'd seen this often enough. She just made it a point to move slightly out of the way.

"RAAAAGHHH!!" - Inon bellowed, drawing his warblade, as he charged over the bonfire at her, ignoring the heat, the blade coming vertically down with a devastating slash, to bury itself halfway into the dirt. She leaped out of the way, slashing her own blade sideways at him, which he blocked. The two blades engaged in a lock, as the two sets of iron-hard biceps strained against each other, snarling in each other's faces, pushing at each other. Yet there was still... buried... primal... lust palpable in their eyes, despite their loathing of each-other. Or perhaps because of it.

Strega tripped him up then elbowed him, making him stagger a half-step back, before she shoved him hard to the ground, bringing her blade slashing down towards his neck. He rolled out of the way, tripping her up in the process, entwining his legs around hers, making her land heavily beside him. He gripped her blade arm's wrist in his steel grip, trying to make her drop it. She did, only to land a punch, which he returned, snapping her head almost all the way around, as her jawbone mask was sent flying. With a snarl, she headbutted him. Then the two began to wrestle and pound at each other, massive punches to the face and body, which phased neither of them, rolling on the ground, as the fight fully dissolved into a brawl, with drops of blood and spittle flying everywhere.

Inon's father just rolled his eyes, in faint amusement. It was a common enough pastime, for the two of them. And given the lack of reaction from any of the others, as well as bystanders nearby in the camp, it was a common enough sight in general. Inon and Strega did not get along, and needed any small excuse to pound at each other in pent-up mutual jealousy. What else was new? In fifteen minutes, they'd be laughing at it, and getting drunk on mead. Until next time.

"I have scouted the swampland a two-hours' run along the river southward. It is a good place to hit the big rock-throwers again, tonight. They have set up camp there, eating, drinking, and being inattentive to their surround." - the white-haired wired female spoke then, referring to the Empire's siege units, in measured tones, even as she briefly stole a glance at her Mistress, rolling around in the dirt with that brute.

The Chieftain nodded.

"Good. Kill as many as you can, but return before many of yours are killed in turn. The night time should aid you, as our enemy loathes to fight at night. And do not die. We can not let them cross, and let rocks from machines fall on our heads. Do you wish some of my men to draw attention of their sentries while you and your huntresses cross?" - to which she nodded.

The planning went on, as the two former lovers continued rolling around and pounding at each other. Eventually, they did stop, mostly none the worse for wear, aside from a few new bruises and split skin, and joined the council, now speaking more civilly to each other, joining the planning, even joking around, groping each other, having burned-out their mutual animosity. For the time being.

Finally, it was decided that Inon himself would lead the diversionary force to draw attention away, while Strega would lead a separate detachment, to try and exploit the chaos, and hit an enemy supply camp, that was nearby to the crossing point. Both assaults would drain the enemy of manpower and attention, allowing Alana to cross with her elite archer company, unnoticed.

***

MEANWHILE; AT THE IMPERIAL GUARD COMMAND CAMP ACROSS THE ESTUARY, THE PALADIN'S TENT....

"Easy, sir... almost there... there!" - a smartly-dressed young phage admonished, helping Sir Draven slide out of his armour's chestpiece, gently sliding it over his head, then placing it to the side, on a hardstand. The legplates and greaves were next, as Sir Draven stretched out on a bench, allowing the phage to place his legs, one by one, on his lap, and undo the straps and latches, before taking the greaves, then the legplates off. The bracers and gauntlets, the paladin could undo himself. Lastly, the pelvic plate needed to be unlatched and removed. Finally, Draven could stretch properly, just in his linen shirt and slacks, and light chainmail padding under the plate, which he promptly shucked out of, laying it over a chair.

"At last... as much as I relish not catching a bad case of blade poisoning at an inopportune moment, spending the majority of one's day in this plate tends to get... sweaty. To put it mildly. Even this far North... perhaps those savages are onto something, not burdening themselves with it... I imagine they smell a tad better, in the evenings, at least!" - the middle-aged eminence declared, in a very clipped upper-class accent, glancing over his armour's parts. He scowled slightly... several areas were dented, with a rather serious indentation to one side of his right shoulder, near the pauldron, where an arrow seems to have bounced off.

"Those uncouth Dorzian harlots... they are quite accurate with their shots. Perhaps overmuch. I imagine the armourer will have his work cut out for him tonight, reforging this. Take the armour over to him, phage. And send in the handmaiden. I require a bath, a massage, and my leaf. Off with you, until the morning." - he ordered, taking his sword scabbard, and hanging it on the hardstand.

"Yes, sir." - the young phage bowed slightly, hoisting the heavy pieces of plate armour over his shoulder, and exiting the tent.

Leaving Draven to saunter over to a liquor stand, pouring himself a shot of whiskey, as he sat down at a table, studying a stack of battle charts. He shook his head to himself. Nothing that he wasn't aware of already, by the simple virtue of being in all those areas of the battlefield, over the past week, and participating in the melee himself. No matter how hard they attempted to push, those savages refused to give up an inch of land, without paying for it, and making them pay for it, in blood and lives. If the siege units could get across the estuary, and onto the plains, he would have the kind of support needed for a major push. Yet those same siege units, needed time to load their siege engines atop of the ferries, and then slowly row over. All the while being vulnerable to skirmishers. And the fact was, their enemy knew this area a lot better then they did, even after a month.

"Sire? Do you wish me to pour you a bath?" - the musical voice of a young handmaiden sounded behind him. His head turned halfway around, regarding the girl in servant clothing standing in the tent's doorway, holding a steaming bucket in each hand, barely out of her teens, lowering her gaze to the ground, shyly.

"Do so." - he motioned, then added, as she glided across the tent, to a brass bathtub, hidden by a curtain.

"How are the wounded?"

"In pain. Suffering. But... comfortable. The healers are tending to them." - the girl whispered, not looking at him, as she sighed.

"I hope those... animals across the river... are suffering as much, for what they do to our brave soldiers." - she sniffed.

"If only." - Draven muttered under his breath, sighing heavily himself, walking over and helping the girl pour the hot water in the bath.

The fact was, their enemy here, was unlike any foe before. Used to pain. Death. And the horrors of war. As far as the Royal scouts reported, ahead of this campaign, the barbarians of Sar'Adul were in a constant state of intermittent warfare, between a myriad of various tribal factions in the area. Their entire existence revolved around survival of the fittest, in the harsh environment, and fighting for supremacy. Unlike many of the footmen under his command, they fought unflinchingly, to the end, without fear, and with primal fury. Almost viewing death as sort of a... reward. Probably some primitive tribal superstition about glory everlasting in the afterlife. And not just the men. Their women... bloody hell. He'd heard stories of the Dorzian amazons, but he always assumed they were tall tales of drunken sailors in pubs. They weren't. Yes, the Empire believed and practiced the equalization of military service between genders - in theory. In practice, very few Thelcorian women ever met the standards required to be accepted for training. And those that did, generally underperformed, barring a few exceptions, like his sister, or his... unofficial mercenary consort.

Not so, with these wild women. These... Dorzians... were fierce. Strong. Unflinching. Fierce beyond anything he ever imagined a female could be, having crossed blades with them now, on many occassions. Every bit as fierce as their hulking male counterparts. From what the Royal scouts reported, they were often at odds with each other, and only the threat of the Empire has brought them together, to face a common foe.

Be that as it may - Draven had a personal stake in this. The Butcher of Thelcor. The Chieftain of the Unified Tribes. That man needed to die, and his rule needed to end. What he did at Thelcor Onnis... the entire town... including Draven's young nephew. A bright boy, training to become a squire in the local Academy of Defensive Arts. One day perhaps, even to take his place among the Imperial Guard... yet none of that was ever to happen, as the teenager's head was found, impaled on a spike on the town's burning battlements, amid hundreds of other victims, when the relief force arrived.... too little, and far, far too late.

Alidos Draven had never considered himself a bloodthirsty man. Not before this campaign. Not during the Defense of Almeria, his first outing as a young Imperial Guardsman, three decades ago. Not during the Scourging of Pil Anas, and bringing Warlord Elhor to Imperial justice, for his reign of terror in that county. Of course... that was the official stance of the Empire. No doubt the Pilians held a different view. No matter. He served justice there. Not even during the Corsair Wars, and dealing with those orcish pirate filth. But this... this war was different. Every time he ran through one of those howling, half-naked savages, he felt... distant satisfaction. A small amount of weight lifting from his heart, as his nephew would be able to rest, a little more easily.

But there would be no rest of him, until the Butcher's head was separated from his body. Until justice was served. The Imperial Guard tenents taught, that battle should never become personal, since that leads to misjudgement, and failure. All his professional career, Draven had held strong to this. Until now. He hid it well, to be sure. None of his subordinates, or the soldiers in his army, would ever know the shell of latent pain, that wrapped itself around his heart. His professional pride maintained a facade of perfect equanimity.

He leaned his head back, allowing the hot water to wash over his naked, scarred body, as the handmaiden's skilled hands went to work on his sore neck, almost falling asleep.

***

THE GUARD COMMANDERS' TENT COMPLEX...

After getting assistance from her own phage, getting out of her plate armour, and admonishing the... vaguely handsy... young man several times, half-jokingly, to watch his hands on her body, lest he lose them, Lady Elestria Draven finally had some time alone, in her segment of the massive officers' tent. Her armour was pretty much spotless today, and didn't need any time in the forge.

"Have a lovely rest, milady." - the phage gushed, working hard to keep his eyes above her neckline, before he added, almost as an afterthought, "Do let me know if you desire company." - before hastily getting out, at a daggers' glare from the woman, and a imperiously hissed-out word "Out!", mixed with just a faintest smirk on the corners of her lips. The boy was incorrigible, easily fifteen-to-twenty years down on her in age, barely in his early twenties, and one of these days she would be tempted to... educate him... in the finer points of propriety, and keeping one's station. Her smirk widened, just by a touch. What form that education would take, was open to imagination, of course. In truth, she rather liked being ogled over. Not that any of these... stone-faced, polished tin soldiers could truly handle her, but... she liked the attention, nonetheless.

Slipping out of the chainmail padding, she slowly took off her linen top, and bottoms, revealing a toned, moderately muscled, statuesque beauty, still very feminine despite her rather strong build. A number of half-faded scars demonstrated, that her armour and weapon wasn't just for show. Yes, there were those in the Guard, that firmly believed her rank was only due to her dear brother's influence, but... well. None of them ever dared to say that to her face, which was saying something. Wagging tongues... they were an occupational hazard, for someone like her. Her campaign record spoke for itself, as did the number of confirmed kills she accrued, during it. Not... particularly... high, mind - her overprotective brother always made certain she was kept away from the fiercest fighting, for her own safety - but certainly presentable enough, for a Knight Commander. She didn't mind... she had been in enough bloodbath out there, to appreciate the virtue of remaining on the sidelines, and picking her personal battles.

Her tub was already filled up, a luxury that she always made certain awaited her at the end of each day. Unlike some, she preferred an unattended bath, and remaining alone with her own thoughts. She glanced at the table, and the stack of maps on it, but just waved her hand dismissively. No doubt Sir Guall... Corvyn... would be along soon, to take her through it, a habit that the handsome, but far too stuck-up young Knight had gotten into, in futile attempts to impress her. She appreciated his expertise, to be certain, but that was as far as it went. He was FAR too timid, for her taste.

Letting herself sink into the warm-ish water, she relaxed, half-closing her lovely eyes. Imagining if this war was not, in fact, ongoing, and she didn't have to be so... circumspect... in meeting up with her secret admirer, on the other side. The notion sent tingles down her nethers, making her bite her lip, softly. She felt around the base of her neck, at the slight bruises he gave her, from how hard he gripped her. Another bruise, lining her right breast. And a half-faded bite mark, the last time they... met. Her smirk spread into an involuntary giggle, as she remembered how much trouble she had walking, for most of the following day, given the very thorough plowing she received. To say he was an animal, would be an understatement, as she bit her lip harder, closing her eyes fully, in sudden desire, letting out a soft sigh, as two fingers of her right hand slipped slowly... meticulously... deeply... into her suddenly wanting womanhood.

"Lady Draven? I... ah... may I enter?" - a tentative male voice sounded, muffled by the curtain at the entrance.

Instantly, the moment passed, as her eyes snapped open again, in annoyance. How LIKE Guall, to pick the worst possible moment to come. And that voice! So... soft and uncertain. Almost as if he was intimidated by her. Which he probably was. Begging for permission. Lips becoming a thin, annoyed line, she stood up in the bathtub, gracefully swinging her long, muscular legs across the lip, walking slowly to a stand with a towel on it, wrapping herself up, in no particular rush. She was determined to make him wait as long as possible, before dignifying him with a reply. The bug!

"Milady?" - the voice sounded again, sounding equally timid. Ugggh.

She ignored it, drying up and getting dressed, in a simple linen blouse and hide pants, as she used a piece of rope to tie her auburn wet hair, in a simple ponytail. Looking herself in the mirror, she made certain to button up the blouse all the way up to her neck. Not giving him any glimpses, when he would come in.

Finally, after a good seven minutes, and a couple more timid meowls from beyond the curtain, she finally deigned to answer.

"Took you long enough, Knight. I was beginning to think you neglected your obligations. Enter." - in an extremely clipped tone, clasping her hands behind her back, governess-style.

The curtain swung aside, to admit the youngish man, with baby-eyes and a two-day stubble on his chin. He was still in his armour - of course, he probably slept in it, given the size of the broom up his rear end - and stood at attention, snapping a hand over his chest, in greeting, in a Guardsman's salute. Despite his parade-army discipline, his face gave off a decidedly melancholy, uncertain aspect. She waved it off, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, motioning him to join her at the table, as she sat down, and selected the latest situation map.

"Let's get started. Give me the supply line situation along the western embankment near the forest. As I understand it, the enemy has tried to breach our line there yesterday?" - she asked sharply, pointing at one segment of the map.

"Indeed, Lady. I have taken the liberty of ordering additional soldiers to reinforce the breach, and Captain Serkios's sellswords have proven valuable in harrying the enemy's flank, allowing us to push the savages out, for the time being. Not without losses, however." - he reported. Only then did she notice the way he was slightly favouring his left leg. Peering closely at the seam of his armour, between the legplate and the pelvic plate, she noticed a patch of blood, beneath the plate. Suddenly, she felt a little guilty for making him wait so long. Her expression softened, fractionally, even favouring the young man with a smile.

"Thank you, Corvyn. Dismissed, I'll have one of the other captains resume the briefing. Go and have that seen to. If the healers make you wait, tell them I have ordered you immediate treatment." - she shooed him gently away.

"It is nothing, just a--" - he started reassuringly, but she shushed him, yanking the legplate slightly down, making him vince in pain, to get a better look.

"A rather deep stab wound, just below your hip. And from how much blood is gushing out of there, I don't like it. I gave you an order, Corvyn. Get better. Don't get that infected. And take your time. I can promise you, this stupid war isn't going anywhere, any time soon. Go." - she spoke firmly, yet keeping her suddenly-warm smile, her eyes steady on his, just enough steel in her voice though, to leave no room for argument, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"A-ah... of course, milady." - he gritted his teeth slightly, in pain, but smiling back, as he made his way back out the entrance.

Once he was gone, she shook her head slightly at herself. He WAS handsome. In a... naive, wide-eyed, good-soldier-boy, dedicated-yet-insecure... kind of way. She could see him as... a friend. A reliable friend. Someone she could count on. And definitely someone she'd feel protective towards. But as far as attraction went - no. He just didn't tick many of the 'manly' boxes that she appreciated. She could imagine him not even knowing what to do with her, if she ever offered herself to him, in bed. Heaven forbid if she expected him to show any kind of initiative!

"Note to self, once he recovers... make certain to keep his assignments far from Inon's usual stomping grounds. He would eat him and five others like him alive, and spit him out as a mangled, bloody pulp of mixed armour and flesh. Probably not even notice... damn this stupid war! I don't even want to imagine what those demented Dorzian harlots would do to him... but at least he should be able to handle some of them, in a fight. I hope... and keep him surrounded with footmen. Meat shields..." - the woman thought, shaking her head slightly once more, as she shifted her attention to the assignment roster, of the Guard commanders subordinate to her, flipping through parchments to find his, and dipping a quill into an ink, to make certain... adjustments.

***

FIVE HOURS LATER, NEAR THE ESTUARY - MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT...

A ring of torches suddenly appeared, all around the supply camp... inhuman voices howling like animals, obscured by the flames... before a sea of arrows and thrown javelins whizzed through the air, burying themselves into chainmail, flesh, and bone of the startled Imperial footmen, roused from their slumber. Those in the guardposts were the first to fall, as a mass of howling, snarling figures swarmed over them, cleaving faces, necks, spearing through, and disembowling them with primal fury.

Torches flew, raining upon the supply tents, setting the entire area ablaze in moments, into a fiery inferno. Already panicked from the surprise attack, the footmen had no chance to rally, running randomly away from the fire, as they were slaughtered by the dozens. Terrified faces watched a single, tall, gloriously war painted and scarred woman, horns on her shoulders, opening a footman gut-to-neck, right through his chainmail, with a powerful upwards slash of a massive, serrated scimitar in her right hand. Shield held firmly in her other hand, she spun and bashed it in with bone-shattering force, into the face of another charging Thelcorian soldier, sending him flying to his back, his forehead bashed-inward, brains pouring out beneath his dented-inward helmet, the corpse nerve-twitching uncontrollably, on the blood soaked grass.

More Dorzians rushed them, spears impaling themselves through the defenders' chainmail, hardly even pausing on their way.

"Kill them all!" - the horned female figure roared, her alto somehow carrying over the crackling fires, and the death screams of many. Her face, lit by the dancing fires, held nothing human, under the jawbone mask.

***

SHORELINE THELCORIAN SENTRY POST, DIRECTLY ACROSS FROM THE FERRY LANDING... ABOUT 300 METERS DOWNRIVER FROM THE SUPPLY CAMP. A FULL COMPANY MANNING IT

The sentries' full attention was fixed on the fiery blaze in the distance, and the distant screams carried over by the wind, from the small supply camp.

"Orders, Knight? Do we help them?!" - one of the men turned to a Guardsman in charge of the sentry post, controlled anxiety in his voice. There was no doubt the supply area was under attack.

The Guardsman shook his head.

"No. If we advance, we leave our flank vulnerable! Our duty, is to protect the ferry landing. We have already seen this kind of pattern... a diversionary attack, to draw us off, while more of them slip across the river, and attack the siege troops. Pay attention to the forest, not the fires! They are not our problem!"

"Sir... this looks like more then just a diversionary raid... they are getting slaughtered over there!" - another footman exclaimed, still in a controlledly-anxious tone.

"And so shall we, if we allow ourselves to be distracted! Now pay attention to the forest. Pikemen in front, shield posture! Dig in your pikes! Second line, standing posture! Semicircular overlapping coverage. I have a bad feeling about this." - the Knight barked, drawing his arming sword, and preparing the shield in his free hand, as he peered hard into the dark forest. He could hear rustling among the trees, that didn't at all sound like just the wind.

The formation obeyed, and with phalanx-like precision, reconfigured according to orders. First line on one knee, tower shields in front, pikes dug in behind, pointed diagonally forward. Second line standing behind them, holding their pikes in a two-handed grip, pointed directly forward, forming an impenetrable wall of pikes. The forest near the estuary, dark and brooding, stretched forebodingly in front of them.

"Illuminate!" - the Knight barked, to one of the archers behind. The man nodded, letting off a flaming arrow soaked in special fluid... which burst into a small fireburst, above the forest, being specially designed to provide a flare-like burst of illumination. The forest was suddenly awash in a fading circle of orange, giving the Thelcorians a glimpse of what was in there.

Nothing could be seen... but a barrage of arrows suddenly came from behind the first treeline, towards the phalanx.

"DEFEND!" - the Knight barked, raising his shield to take a couple of arrows meant for him, onto it's surface. More arrows impacted the shield wall, but a few slipped through, claiming a couple of casualties.

"VOLLEY!" - he barked again, as their own archers returned fire, into the darkness beyond the first tree-line. Nothing. No sounds, no death-screams, no commotion. No further volleys came.

Suddenly, there was rustling to be heard, closer to their line, but this time coming from the flanks of the semicircle. Then, as one, a mass of huge, battle-scarred and warpainted barbarians rose from the swampland, where they were clearly hiding until they got close enough, mud clinging to their half-naked, rock hard bodies, looking like mud golems rising from the ground. With a mass of guttural warcries, they charged into the phalanx, maces and war hammers bashing aside shields, and bashing-in helmeted heads. More then a few barbarians got impaled on the pike wall, but just as many were breaking through.

"Reform the line, and hold!" - the Knight yelled, as battle developed in full, and he suddenly found himself trading slashes, blocks, crosscuts, blows and parries, with a mace-wielding savage, while another tried to lunge for his back, only to find himself impaled with a pike, from the side. The troops seemed to be rallying. For now... He had time to glance in that direction for a moment, to see a huge, battle-scarred barbarian, a mace in each hand, wading through a knot of footmen like a tornado through a haybale. His maces shattered shield and bone, sending two of the men reeling, cradling their jarred wrists, before he caved in their skulls, with an ululating, jubilant warcry, a spray of blood splashing up at his face.

***

SOME DISTANCE AWAY, IN THE FOREST...

"Go. Fast and silent, into the estuary. Do not make a sound, do not churn the waters. We have our diversions going, now we cross to strike hard at the beast's belly!" - Arisa hissed under her breath, moving like a shadow through the forest, two dozen of her Rangers, single-file following her just as silently. Hoisting her bow on her back, she dove soundlessly into the water, diving just below the surface, swimming forward, only occassionaly surfacing to get air. The others followed, just as stealthily.

Battle raging in the near distance, while flames still burned in the far distance, their passage went unnoticed. All the way across, to the siege camps, and the unsuspecting support cadre of Thelcorian troops.

***

TOMORROW MORNING... THELCORIAN COUNTERATTACK PREPARATIONS, IMPERIAL STAGING AREA

Sir Alidos Draven, in full armour and gird for battle, climbed to a makeshift stage, in front of the massed ranks of Thelcorian footmen. His expression was grave, yet the outrage burning behind his eyes, was plain for all to see.

"Men of Thelcor! Tonight, we have experienced a bloodying, that can only be described as humiliating. Our enemy has adapted their tactics, making a three-pronged attack onto our lines. The first one, while the least important tactically, was also the most devastating, logistically, leading to a loss of Supply Post 31. It was burned to the ground, along with all the foodstuffs and comestibles that were stored there. All the men were slaughtered." - he paused, at the grumbles of dismay that could be heard. Lifting a hand, he raised his voice:

"DO NOT DESPAIR! This simply means, that we must appropriate food from our enemy, until the next caravan from the Empire comes! I PROMISE you, we shall not starve! In essence, those savages have selected our next targets for us. They have raided our villages and towns, often enough, in the past! Starting today, and the next fortnight forward, we shall return the favour! Divide into raiding parties, on horseback, bypass their battle lines, and raid their nearest settlements, at the foothills of Mount Sar'Adul! But all in good time." - he paused again, as several roars of approval went up. But also several narrowed eyes, most especially among the Knight Commanders, standing in a line off to the side, though some clearly approved, as well. Lady Elestria, also in full armour, standing off to the side, scowled, tossing a strand of auburn hair from her eyes.

"So that is how it is, then? We lower ourselves to their level of savagery? Raiding innocent villagers, and stealing their food? Perhaps raping, pillaging, while the Guard turns a blind eye to the actions of the men? How long will it be, before this degenerates into a grudge-feud?! How far are you willing to bend our principles, for victory, dear brother?" - she thought, as her brother continued:

"The second target they hit, was our sentry post overlooking the ferry landing, catering to our siege units! Here, I must commend Knight-Captain Ferlas, whose skilled and courageous leadership prevented a complete rout, and turned away the attacking force, with great losses of their own!" - a roar of cheering went up, as Alidos continued...

"Alas, the brave Knight-Captain had laid his life, for his courage. As did many of his men. But their sacrifice was not in vain! Their sentry post held, and was able to provide early warning to the siege camps, their last target, since the Captain's hunch was very correct, in assuming the attack was merely cover, for another over-water Amazon raid on the camps! Our rear echelons have acquitted themselves well, repelling the interlopers, with only a few making their escape, and most importantly, were able to surround and capture the leader, after gravelly wounding her! I present to you... a Dorzian." - he motioned, as a pair of footmen marched a wounded, battered and beaten, white haired wiry woman, to the front. She was clad in hides and leather, her wired, muscular frame smeared with blood. From the amount of it... a lot of it, not her own.

Despite the beatings she had clearly been subjected to, during the night, despite the way she walked, which, to Elestria's eyes, was illuminating of the fact she had been raped, as well, she held herself with unbroken defiance, spitting at Draven's polished armour, once she was close enough, pinning the paladin with her fierce gaze.

"Weakling tin man! If you believe capturing me will get you anything, you are---" - she was interrupted with a backhand from Draven, his armoured gauntlet spinning her head halfway around, a trail of blood trickling from her mouth. Not the least bit phased, she simply spat at him again, this time directly in the face, as if daring him to hit her again, struggling against the two holding her.

He did so, harder, as the footmen cheered. To no more effect, other then the trail of blood from the woman's mouth increasing, and her next spittle at him being mixed with blood. If anything, being hit only made her more defiant, as she kicked out at him, struggling against the two footmen restraining her bound wrists.

Elestria's eyes narrowed, watching this.

"Is that the best you can do? At least it's better then what your... little boy... soldiers are capable of! We have killed many of them, tonight. And we will not stop, until we send you screaming, from our lands. By your own will, or by way of the grave--" -the captive woman sneered, narrowing her eyes at the Paladin.

For this, she received a hard punch to her gut, as Alidos put full force into it, making her double over halfway, before he brought his plated knee, up at her chin, snapping her head back. She snarled, straightening again, before he gripped her by her hair, getting in her face, ignoring another blood-mixed spit, this time mixed with her front teeth.

"No. Thus far, we have attempted to show you... savages... the barest notion of civility. Despite your incessant raids... despite what you have done at Thelcor Onnis..." - his composure broke there, for a split moment, the barest trace of outrage seeping through, before he got it under control again.

"But that ends, today. You mistake civility for weakness? So be it. We will deal with you, in a language you appreciate and understand. Until the Unified Tribes are crushed, and Sar'Adul is Thelcorian land." - he growled.

The woman snarled at that, twisting forward, giving him a headbutt to the mouth, splitting his lower lip with a trail of blood of his own. He punched her again, before Elestria suddenly shoved her way between them.

"ENOUGH!" - she yelled, shoving him back, hard enough to stumble against the wall, nearly falling.

This provoked a collective gasp, from the troops. Alidos himself looked... stunned.

"Knight-Commander, how DARE you?! I should---" - he started, before she cut him off.

"Don't knight-commander me, Alidos! You know full well what the tenents of the Guard are. Or have you forgotten the oaths we both took? The oath you taught me, all those years ago?! Look at what you're doing!" - she shouted vehemently at him, pinning her older brother with a glare, as she hooked a thumb back, at the battered captive.

He stood there, vacillating, pinning his younger sister with an outraged glare... which... lacked conviction. For all of her passion and impulsiveness, not to mention... impropriety, at times, Elestria's heart was in the right place. Yet at the same time, in his mind's eye, he saw the memory of his young nephew... the memory of all those heads, impaled on spikes, on the burning battlements... the memory of crying, inconsolable mothers over their slain children and huzbands, after these savages' raids. A single tear slid from the corner of his eye.

"They deserve this. And worse. Far worse. And they shall get it." - he growled, softly.

"Ahm... Lady Elestria is correct. This-this is NOT our way!" - Sir Corvyn Guall echoed from behind, in his usual uncertain tone, but with an undertone of conviction. A couple of others voiced agreement, while a few voiced disagreement, taking Alidos's side. The rank-and-file troops broke out, in a murmured gabble of... discussion. Division.

And that, was dangerous. Narrowing his eyes, Alidos was about to add something, but Elestria spoke first, sensing the atmosphere as well:

"Take the captive to my chambers in the command tent. I shall interrogate her! According to the Guard's precepts." - in a clear, strong tone. Guall immediately stepped up, hand-over-heart salute.

"Allow me to escort the captive, milady."

Meanwhile the captive Dorzian remained silent, her eyes narrowed, her bloody mouth a thin line, but as she met Elestria's gaze, she only gave one small nod, indicating she would not resist. There was an unspoken measure of reassurance, communicated between the two women.

"Release her arms." - Elestria softly ordered the two guards. They didn't comply, looking at Alidos for confirmation. She did as well, noticing his conflicted expression, the way his mouth moved, soundlessly, his own gaze narrowed. She laid a soft hand on his shoulder.

"Trust me, brother. I will deal with this. You focus on our war effort. Alright?" - gently, but firmly. Neither of them noticed that the murmur from the ranks have subsided. All were now looking at their two leaders, for the resolution of this.

Finally, he caved, with only a curt nod.

"Just get her out of my sight." - in a hoarse whisper.

The two guards released the Amazon woman's arms, and Guall stepped up, taking one of her arms, but not twisting it. The wild woman threw him a glare, but did not jerk away.

"This way." - he motioned. Wordlessly, she complied, while Elestria brought up the rear.

"Don't make me regret this. I would speak with you at length. About this entire mess... and how we can find both our ways out of it. Because this has gone too far, for both sides. For everyone involved. At least some part of you must realise that." - she spoke into the woman's ear, as they walked.

The Dorzian still said nothing, but her tension eased slightly, which Guall could feel, in her arm, as it relaxed a bit.

***

INSIDE THE TENT...

Despite herself, Elestria was impressed, by the captive woman's... one Arisa Mar'eyir, as it turned out, as they got to know each other a bit... ability to take things in stride, and mental toughness. It was as if she had no feelings to hurt, or emotions to scar. In fact, most males would not have coped this well. In the past seven hours, she was wounded in battle, beaten repeatedly, raped repeatedly, only partially tended to, as the blood-soaked bandage covering her side evidenced at, left without water afterwards, then dragged to be beaten up some more. Most in her place, Elestria included, would be emotionally scarred for life, requiring a long time to come to terms with what was done to them.

The Dorzian was eating and drinking ravenously, light in her eyes, without a slightest trace of resentment or bitterness on her cut and bruised face, as she spoke, after Elestria allowed her to clean up, in her bath, and had food and drink delivered, to her chambers.

"Good food! Tell me... lady Knight. Do your captives usually eat this good?" - the wild woman grinned, her smile showing her two missing front teeth, as she shoved another spoonful. As far as table manners went, they were about on the level what Elestria would expect, from someone who had probably never seen a set of proper eating implements in her life, and certainly had no idea how to use them. So far, the spoon was the only tool the amazon used with regularity. The fork remained untouched, and the knife was only used when the spoon didn't suffice to... cut... a piece off.

"Not usually, no. But... well. I think we've all forgotten what proper hospitality looks like, out here." - Elestria smiled slightly, then added. "Besides, you are the first of your kind I have had an opportunity to speak to." - which got her a quizzical look, from Arisa. From her perspective, captors didn't simply want to... speak... with captives. Unless to interrogate, take advantage of, for pleasure or fun, or torture and execute. She had certainly seen enough of that, from all the tribes of Sar'Adul, including her own. Certainly, that was what she expected to be her end, once she was wounded and captured. And for a while, it looked that way. Until this... strange woman... stepped in on her behalf.

She shrugged indifferently.

"Okay. We talk if you want. I'm surprised to see women, in your... army? Is that the word? We hear about how they are all even weaker then your men, and stay home all day to clean and cook. Never hunt, never fight. You are dressed to hunt and fight, yes?" - motioning with the spoon at Elestria's gleaming armour, then added, with a wink: "And you do not look weak!"

Elestria had to chuckle, at such a... simplistic appraisal. But in many ways, very accurate.

"Why thank you! Well. Civilisation has it's... roles, shall we say. Yes, most of us do indeed choose that way of life. Or perhaps more accurately, that way of life is chosen for us, at times, one way or another. As for myself, well... growing up in a family of Imperial Guardsmen, surrounded by three brothers, and having to learn to play rough with them from a young age, tends to alter one's views on life and it's prospects. I discovered that I liked a good scrap. And also discovered I had the fortitude for it, along with blood, guts, and rest of the assorted unpleasantries that tend to be an integral part of battle." - with an evil smirk, which, as it turned out, was completely lost on the Dorzian woman, as she blinked in confusion, at Elestria's choice of words.

"Un...unpleasantries? You mean you do not like killing your enemies? Seeing their pain, their blood spilled as their life leaves them, tasting it on your lips, knowing victory, relishing it? For my people, battle is way of life. You are tested. Your enemy is tested. The stronger one wins and gets even stronger, by taking the weaker one's life, freedom, choice, and things. The weaker one falls. It is nature. The cycle of survival. It is the way of the world." - the wild woman stated, excitedly, in such a, 'duh', matter-of-fact tone that it sent a shiver down Elestria's spine, as she continued stuffing her face.

Looking in Arisa's eyes, so bright and wild, yet so... strangely pure and innocent, in their primal aspect, she could tell that the other woman literally saw nothing wrong, with what she said. It also explained, how she took what was done to her recently, in stride. She seemed to enjoy the notion, but not for the sake of being deliberately malicious. She simply saw it as... the way of life. Rule of the strong, over the weak. Natural law at it's purest. For a long moment, Elestria didn't know what to say. She glanced over at Corvyn, whos expression was a mixture of... disgust, and... mild intrigue. Arisa's statement was so... outlandish... that it actually mystified him. He chose that moment to speak up.

"You mean... when you raid our towns, or villages, take what you want from the innocent, rape and murder them, leave families broken, livelihoods shattered... you see it as - just the way of the world?!" - he asked, incredulously.

The wild woman glanced at him, pausing to consider her words. She didn't miss the seeming incredulousness, in his voice. She didn't quite understand what was it that he was so... shocked... about, but she had a vague notion. He mentioned - the innocent. That term was definitely something she didn't quite wrap her mind around. It implied - the helpless. The weak, who must be shielded from the world, until they can fend for themselves. The... immature. The children. In all of Sar'Adul, the only ones who would fit his seeming definition of the 'innocent' were the children. Those who literally were too young and helpless, to fend for themselves, which by tribal law, was seventeen years of age. Everyone else, was fair game, in battle.

She glanced at Elestria. Seeing the same incredulousness, though to a slightly lesser degree. Taking a sip of the drink she had beside her plate, the amazon shrugged again.

"Only children are innocent. None of us would murder children. Or rape, or enslave, or use them. We don't touch the young. Cowards do that. We have only one punishment, for cowards. Slow death, of starvation and thirst, without honour of facing your killer in battle. But if you are not a child, you are fair game. If I want something from you, I take it if I choose to. If you're not strong enough to defend yourself, or that which I want to take, you submit, or you die by my hand. How do you think our tribes are formed? The strongest one decides that everything and everyone belongs to him or her. Perhaps by killing the former Chief, perhaps by gathering a group of those weaker then them, and deciding it. If none can then challenge them in battle, the claim stands. The rest submit to the new rule, those who do not, die. Their children are taken in, by the conqueror, raised as his or her own. We do not kill the young. Ever."

"That is a LIE!" - Elestria snapped, "My brother, Paladin Alidos, lost a young nephew, during the Massacre of Thelcor Onnis! He was a child. Fourteen years of age, when he was murdered, his head impaled on a spike! The entire town was burned down. Including children, down to the last infant!" - glaring at the amazon.

At this, Arisa's head snapped around. Eyes narrowing, as she left the spoon on the table, her attention now unblinkingly on the other woman.

"WHAT?!?" - genuine shock in the Dorzian woman's voice, as her strong arm suddenly snapped out, to grip Elestria's chestplate, yanking the other woman close. Corvyn's hand reached for his sword, as he shot to his feet, but Elestria hastily raised a hand to stop him.

"Are you certain of this?" - the amazon hissed, not even glancing at the man, her full attention still on Elestria's eyes. The other woman met that intense gaze unflinchingly, not even attempting to break free.

"You heard me. Why do you think we call the Unified Tribes chieftain, the Butcher of Thelcor? Why do you think we are here, to begin with?! The raids were bad enough, but the slaughter of a town? That called for only one response, from the Empire. War." - Elestria growled.

The amazon released her, her gaze moving off somewhere, to an indeterminate spot on the tent's wall. Her bruised face a mirror of deep thought. Finally, she spoke.

"To us, the fate of the town you speak of, is known as the Battle of a Thousand Falling Stars. From the stories the Chieftain told, the town was filled with invaders. Conquerors who were readying to move northward, and consume all of Sar'Adul. To make us part of your... Empire. Destroy our ways. Seven years ago, he led an army of a thousand warriors, descending upon the town with vengeance from the god Adul himself, to purge the invaders, and protect our land. I was still young then. But from stories, fire was laid upon the town, and it's invader armies put to the blade. Sar'Adul was made safe, again. But he told us that more would come, and that to stop them, we would need to put aside our differences, and make a grand force, to oppose them. Oppose you." - she looked back at Elestria, expression hardening again.

"And now you tell me, that it is a lie? That instead of invaders, children were butchered there? Why should I trust the word of an invader, over my Chieftain's?"

"Perhaps he had a vested interest, in unifying the people of Sar'Adul? For that, he required a palpable external threat, as a catalyst." - Corvyn put in, emphatically. Elestria glanced at him, impressed, but the amazon scowled, pointing a finger at him.

"Watch your tongue, boy. The external threat was already here. You and your Thelcorian Empire were advancing into our lands, even BEFORE that day. Or do you deny that?" - she demanded.

"N-no... No! We were colonising this side of the shoreline, if you look from the South, but we had no intention of--" - he began defensively, before she interrupted, clenching her fist:

"EVERYTHING on 'this side of the shoreline', is OUR LAND! The land of Adul, from time before the stars shone in the night sky! You have no claim to it. And we do not seek your weakling, hypocritical 'civilisation'. None of us do, no matter how often we are at each-other's throats. Now or ever! And you complain about the raids? We were simply taking our due, from you using our land." - she snarled, making the young man swallow. If he was intimidated by Elestria, this woman was positively making him feel like a mouse in an owl's sight. Especially in light of the... savage... way she saw life.

Elestria cut in, smoothly but firmly.

"Point taken. But you could have come to us about it. Made your case before the Emperor. Not exterminated a town."

"And your 'Emperor' would deign to listen to 'savages' like us? Do not insult me. We may be... primitive, to your eyes, but we are not fools. We have scouts that travel far and wide, from all tribes. Huntsmen, trackers, rangers. You may not know us, but we are everywhere. We know the ways of your 'civilised' world. One of the reasons we do not wish a part of it." - the huntress retorted, just as firmly, but then lifted her own hand, forestalling a rejoinder...

"But that is no excuse for the death of children, if you speak the truth. Others must hear what you told me. My Warmatron, first and foremost." - in a more calm tone. She smirked then, shaking her head mirthlessly.

"She is... hard. Even by ways of our land, she is hard. Unyielding, until pushed. Like an avalanche, far up the mountain, waiting for a smallest cause, to roll down and crush everything before her. But she must be, to rule, and keep the Dorzia'nna tribe safe from others." - the way the woman spoke of her, made it very clear she... admired, even... loved her, "Much preferring that her fists and blades to do her talking, to her tongue. But she believes in our ways, and I have known her long enough to know she has honour. She would see this outrage, the same way I do. Only cowards kill the young. And if the Chieftain has indeed done it... no matter his motives... he is a coward."

"What about his son? Inon?" - Elestria asked, before she caught herself, scowling. But too late. The amazon looked at her, in surprise.

"How do YOU know his name, lady Knight?" - suspiciously. Corvyn looked equally puzzled.

Elestria could kick herself now, biting her lip softly. THIS was a secret she most definitely did not want out in the open. Especially in front of Corvyn, whose... prim-and-properness... worked both ways. But the cat was out of the bag now. Taking a deep breath, she began.

"I've... met him. More then once." - shifting uncomfortably in her plate, with a slight blush.

"You... you met with the e-enemy?! In what wa--" - Corvyn looked shocked, but Ariana just laughed heartily, stopping him. The blush on the other woman's face was blindingly obvious.

"Oh come on, boy. You are young, you are not witless! I hope." - the amazon chuckled, "The Knight-lady means she found... barbarian... meat irresistible! Given her options here, I do not begrudge her." - winking at red-faced Elestria, and white-faced Corvyn.

"Not the way I swing, myself... but to each her own. Just beware. The Warmatron tried him on, for quite a while. They nearly killed each-other, and ruined the alliance! From her telling, he is a handful!" - chuckling.

Elestria wished she could fall into the ground, but instead, just gave the wild woman a hard punch on the shoulder.

"Please... stop!" - shaking her head as she desperately tried to contain a chuckle of her own.

"Let me guess? Another of your 'civilised' ways, not to talk openly about fucking?" - the amazon laughed again, brushing a strand of Elestria's hair, from her face, and caressing her neck.

"He could do worse, though. That's for certain." - the wild woman purred, swallowing the shining-armoured lady with her gaze.

"Kh-khm... uhhh..." - Corvyn's face was now red, as the young knight shifted even more uncomfortably, in his own armour. Despite his best efforts, his penis began to press against his pelvic plate, in erection, watching the two women.

Elestria stirred under the wild woman's touch, momentarily tongue-tied herself, as she weakly pushed the hand away, but not really trying too hard.

"Funny you mention it... that... ah... is... I mean, not... the way I swing... myself. I've never... uh... been with a... another woman." - she managed, feeling a bit hot and bothered. Even bruised and battered... or perhaps because of it, the amazon's body was... delicious to look at, under that blood-stained leather armour of hers.

"Never?" - Arisa hissed, gripping the neckline of her chestplate, and pulling her in for a kiss.

"Nwwffw..." - Elestria's reply was buried beneath her lips. Assertively, the amazon gripped the back of the other woman's neck, leaning into the kiss, her free hand slipping all over the metallic surface of the armour.

"Boy! Come here... take this... metal cage... off of your knight mistress. Now. It is very... annoying!" - she commanded, lustfully, as Elestria leaned her head back, breathing softly in affectation.

"Do... mmm... do as she says, Knight." - she purred softly, with a slight moan.

Poor Corvyn was at a loss for words, hesitating, looking between the two, his erection RAGING by now, before the fierce amazon woman gripped him surprisingly... gently, but firmly, by his chin, pulling him close. That GRIP! His cock twitched.

"Now, boy. If you are good... you might change my mind on the way I swing, myself. Before I twist that pretty neck of yours." - she hissed, mock-threateningly, caressing his throat, then giving it a slightly harder squeeze, planting a quick kiss on his lips.

"A-a....as y-y... you w-wish..." - he stammered, reaching a hesitant hand, to caress the insides of the wild woman's iron thighs. In an instant, she gripped him by the neck hard enough to begin to choke him. He tried to break free, but he couldn't so much as move that iron-hard forearm of hers.

"I said. IF you are good. Last night, I tasted man-meat against my will from your captors, while tied up like a pig and raped on a rack. If you wish to make me taste yours willingly, you'll have to work for it, boy." - the amazon growled, tone somewhere between lust and anger, before releasing him.

Elestria's chuckle was playful.

"He IS incorrigible, isn't he? Come here, Sir Guall, and undress me. Now." - playful changing to commanding.

Glassy-eyed, face burning red, his cock by now struggling to break past the pelvic plate, the young knight obeyed.

Ten minutes later, he was lying on the soft carpet of the tent, as Lady Elestria's womanhood made his whole world, his tongue slithering inside her tunnel like a snake, eating her out with zealous gusto. Meanwhile, Elestria herself had a face-full of the wild woman's iron crotch, her tongue exploring the folds and crevices of the savage clit, before she slid it inside, tasting the Dorzian maiden.

"Mmmmmmffff!" - the lady breathed hard into her prize, gripping the amazon by her ass-cheeks, pressing her in harder to her face, digging in with equal gusto that Corvyn's mouth was applying to her cunt. Damn, but the wild woman tasted GOOD!

Arisa just breathed hard, entwining her thighs around Elestria's head, pressing her in to her crotch even harder, feeding her her juices. Lustfully, the other woman swallowed it all, and grunted for more, as the amazon continued misting hard. Below, Sir Guall's face was awash in Elestria's own juices, getting into his eyes, but he simply continued lapping. Growing bolder, he reached up, to give his commanding officer's ass a HARD spank.

"MmmMMMMMFFF!" - she shuddered in pleasure, digging into Arisa's cunt even harder.

"Harlot..." - Corvyn grunted, slapping her ass again, before he dug in as well.

"Mm...hwww DWWRRWW yww! MMMFFFFfffffff..." - she mumbled through the amazon's nethers, as the trio continued pleasuring each other, in an impromptu celebration of their... newfound understanding.

***

OUTSKIRTS OF THE THELCORIAN COMMAND CAMP... AN HOUR LATER

"The coast is clear. For the time being... it would appear that the raiding force has departed." - Corvyn reported, taking a good look around the courtyard, and up into the guard towers.

"The sentries are alert, though. It will not be easy to sneak our captive out." - he added.

"You worry about getting out yourself, without arousing suspicion, Corvyn. Sneaking in and out of places is my speciality! Just give me some distraction, on that tower. Make them look away from the western side of the yard, for ten seconds, when I give the signal." - Arisa retorted, casually, with a smile. The fact that she stopped calling him 'boy', was indication enough of the higher opinion the amazon had developed of the young man, following their... activity... for the past hour.

"What then? How will you arrange for me to meet your... Warmatron? Given what you told us about your ways, I don't imagine she will want to speak to us." - Elestria inquired, crossing her arms. She was a bit... disappointed... to have her 'captive' leave so soon. The past hour, was exquisite.

"The Matron is far from pleased, with the alliance. The only reason she agreed to have the Dorzia'nna join the Unified Tribes, is because of the convincing story the Chieftain told us about the Battle of Thousand Falling Stars, and the threat you pose. Any doubt cast on that, will make her curious to hear more. Even from the enemy." - Arisa assured her, before adding:

"Tread softly, though, when you approach our war camp. Leave your metal cag-- armours? Here. I will alert our huntresses to expect you, but they will need a way to tell the difference between you, and the rest of you metal-caged weaklings! In those garments, you all look the same." - she chuckled.

WIth brief goodbyes, the three split up, as Elestria and Corvyn drew the sentries in the western towers' attention, calling up for a report, while Arisa slipped out like a shadow, on the other side of the perimeter. By the time the sentries' attention was back where it needed to be, she was long gone.

On the other side of the camp, hiding behind one of the equipment shacks, a lone female figure stepped away from her cover, having observed... and overheard... the entire exchange. Also having been close enough to the relevant segment of the command tent, to have overheard most of what was being discussed, earlier. A relatively short but thickset, strongly-built, medium armoured, hard-faced woman, with an open helmet, and a no-nonsense expression on her face.

Alana Serkios.

The sellsword's expression didn't change, as she disappeared from sight. But her hand suddenly itched, on the pommel of her axe, as she cracked her knuckles briefly.

"So. Alidos's suspicions have been confirmed. His dear sister is a bit too... easy to influence... by the enemy. Not to mention a proper harlot. All it takes is an hour, buried face-deep in savage pussy. Disgraceful. And for a Knight-Commander of the Guard, no less. And if that thing about her and the Chieftain's son is remotely accurate... Oh, juicy... juicy, juicy, juicy. I might keep that little... gold nugget... for use, at a later date, if I can learn more details and gather more evidence. Just in case she somehow keeps her position after this. And later, she and that naive little Guall brat, will be leaving camp. Alone. Well, I guess I know what me and my men will be doing this afternoon, if their timetable stays the same. With any luck, they'll lead us right to the Dorzians' command camp!" - the thought brought an evil smirk, to the woman's face.

In one swoop, they'd have the chance of cutting the head off the Dorzian tribe, correspondingly weakening the Unified Tribes' resistance, as well as apprehending a pair of traitors! The payout should be... well. Well more then enough to ensure all of them private residences in the High Quarter of Thelcor Onadda, the Emperor's City itself! And for herself... maybe even coin enough to buy herself a nobility title. Or a field-induction into the Guard, with all the perks.

"Lady Alana Serkios... I like the sound of that."

***

OUT ON THE PLAINS OF BHEL'ZHERA, NORTH-EASTERN AREA OF THE CONFLICT ZONE, NEAR THE FOREST...

The grassland and tundra had began to give way to the forest outskirts, several hours' walk from the battle lines, the sun high on the cloudy sky, before Elestria called a halt, as she and Corvyn came across the sign. Arisa had said that the sign would be obvious, that they were getting close to the meeting site. She didn't elaborate what that meant, at the time. As it turns out... she didn't need to. It was obvious.

A glade of burned-down grass, with a crude monolith in the middle, indecipherable runes covering it's stone surface, and a mass of... faintly glowing insects, buzzing around it. Easily a thousand of them. The pattern of their flight, and the light-trails they left behind, was oddly evocative of shooting-stars, across the sky. The two Knights, now dressed in casual clothing, as per instructions, only with their swords at their hips, paused.

"Do you see the... the stars, milady?" - Corvyn pointed at the luminescent insects.

Elestria nodded, a bit mesmerised. She was no sorceress, far from it, but for this to happen naturally, seemed impossible, to her. Why would those bugs be drawn naturally, to a piece of stone? And the symbolism was clear. The monolith in the middle, represented the town of Thelcor Onnis. The ring of burnished grass, was the so-called 'cleansing' of the invaders. And the luminescent insects, were the thousand barbarian warriors, that put the town to the sword.

"Battle of the Thousand Falling Stars." - the woman whispered.

Suddenly, from the forest, a number of lithe, yet fierce-looking, war painted and tattooed women dressed in quilted animal-hide clothing appeared. Half of them had bows, notched and aimed at the two, the other half approached the two purposefully, short curved, serrated scimitars drawn. They paused, five paces away, spreading out into a semicircle, to match the line of burnished grass. None of them spoke, fierce eyes gazing unblinkingly at the two.

"I do not like this..." - Corvyn murmured, hand brushing his sword hilt, but a light touch from Elestria stopped him.

"Easy... if they wanted us dead, something tells me we would be already." - under her breath. Surprisingly, her voice carried, across the mystical glade.

"Indeed." - an alto female voice, came from the forest. Then she came into view.

Warmatron Strega. She looked more or less precisely as Arisa described her. A nearly 1,9 meters tall woman, heavyset, mostly hardened muscle, veins pulsing in her oxen neck, the quilted animal hides she was dressed in, barely containing her powerful frame, with a pair of garish, yet fierce-looking yak horns affixed to her shoulders, a jawbone mask on her scarred, painted face, a pair of massive blades on her hips, similar in style to the scimitars the others used, only much larger and heavier. Almost reflexively, Elestria mentally chuckled, at something Arisa mentioned...

"So, she is the one that... tried on... Inon? Well, I can tell why that relationship didn't last. Hard to decide which one of them would be the alpha, in that pairing! And two alphas in the same room, leads to blood! I'm guessing she's not the submissive type..." - with a minute shake of her head. Beside her, she could hear Corvyn take a sharp breath, clearly unnerved.

Strega stopped, next to the mass of swirling, glowing insects. Snapping out one of her tree-trunk like arms, she surprisingly gently caught one, holding the bug between her thumb and forefinger - unharmed.

"You have made some... serious... allegations, she-Knight. And told my Head Huntress quite a story." - the woman murmured, studying the bug.

"Allegations I stand by. We are all fighting under false assumptions." - Elestria replied, without hesitation.

"We... we also kept her alive, and helped her escape Imperial captivity!" - Corvyn added, finding his voice.

At this, Strega pierced him with a glare, which, despite his newfound confidence, made him lower his to the ground.

"That just makes you traitors to your cause, does it not, boy? If one of mine had helped you escape my captivity, for any reason, I would have her living heart for supper, that evening. Then your testicles, once I caught you again." - the fierce woman stated, in a surprisingly even tone.

"B-be that as it may, I likewise stand by the actions we took." - Corvyn swallowed hard, but forced himself to meet that gaze.

"Good." - Strega favoured the two, after a few moments, with a slight smile, releasing the glowing bug, as she added, "Whatever your motives, you are not cowards, and you have conviction, and that will suffice for now. Come. We will trek to my camp, and you will tell me the story you told Arisa. You will not be harmed, under flag of truce, for as long as you remain my guests." - she turned, waving a hand for them to follow, as the others lowered their weapons.

"Did that go better, or worse, then expected?" - Corvyn whispered to Elestria, as they fell into step with their escorts, following.

"Well, since we are still breathing, I would say better." - the woman pursed her lips, hiding her own stirrings of unease.

The Dorzian camp was a collection of intricately-shaped huts, a half an hour's walk into the forest, perhaps fifty in total, built against various trees, arrayed in concentric circles, around a central clearing, which housed the largest hut, which was presumably the Warmatron's. Glancing up at the tree branches, the two spotted glimpses of sentries, covered in leaves for camouflage, eyes unblinking on the procession below. Suddenly, one of their escorts closest to the two, interposed herself ahead of them, shoving the two to a stop.

"What's going on?" - Elestria demanded, in surprise, resisting the urge to reach for her sword, as another of the wild women stopped Corvyn.

"Traps in ground, and in trees. Only two safe ways through. You don't know them. Your eyes too blind to see them. Two of you, split up. Each follow one of us. Stay in our steps. Pay attention. Or die. Traps do not take captives." - the woman replied, a trace of amusement in her tone.

"Charming." - Corvyn wisecracked, prompting an eye-roll from the woman that stopped him.

Ahead, they could see Strega and the rest of the amazons also taking a very deliberate approach to the camp, clearly following a couple of specific patterns through the woods. Elestria glanced around, peering very closely at the nearest trees, roots, and any crevices in the ground. Nothing struck her as suspicious.

"I don't see anything out of place." - she murmured, only then realising how silly that sounded, adding quickly, "Yes, yes. My eyes too blind to see them. Lead the way." - trying hard not to be sarcastic.

Despite herself, she had to disagree with the common assessment in the Thelcorian Empire, that these people were 'primitive'. Yes, they were primitive when it came to matters of technology, metallurgy, societal norms and their outlook on life... but they were incredibly sophisticated, in other matters. They were in tune with natural forces, in a way that she couldn't begin to understand or appreciate. And as warriors, they were second to none, being able to bring the massed might of the Imperial armies, to a bloody standstill, for so long.

They passed through the trapped area without incident, the two Thelcorians heeding the warnings they were given, and staying precisely in step with their escorts. They made it into the camp proper, finally having a chance to look about, as they were led down the concentric tiers of huts, towards the clearing in the centre, and the Warmatron's hut. There were no elders, or children, only women in their prime. Expected, for an amazon war camp. Also no men to be seen, anywhere. Aside from a row of bamboo-cages, that housed Thelcorian captives. Corvyn peered at them, as they passed. The footmen looked haggard and exhausted, but strangely not beaten up, or malnourished, aside from the wounds they seemed to have suffered in battle. He was just about to comment, when further down the row of huts, he saw one of the captives, naked, being lashed by an amazon, tied spreadeagle to a tree, his back already a mess of burning, bloody welts, as the woman was laying into him with a heavy boiled-leather whip.

On each vicious lash, he let out a subdued howl of agony. Reflexively, Corvyn's hand found his sword, but as he pulled it, the escort nearest to him had her scimitar at his throat, while another stepped behind him, her blade in hand as well.

"Desist. Or you are no longer under flag of truce." - that woman hissed, her hot breath in his ear.

"Warmatron?! Is that necessary?!" - Elestria called out ahead, nodding her head at the whipping, as she was also surrounded by drawn blades. She also had her hand on the hilt of her claymore, but didn't try drawing it.

"Is what necessary?" - Strega called back quizzically, stopping and turning around.

A scowl on her face, Elestria nodded again, at the bound man being whipped. Strega still didn't get it, blinking in confusion.

"What do you mean, she-Knight? He is being interrogated, as we interrogate all of the captives we take in battle, in turn. That one remained stubborn to more pleasurable means, so he gets the tree. The fact that he allowed himself to be taken alive, is his failure as a warrior. Once we know what he knows, one way or another, we'll slit his throat. Perhaps after one of my huntresses takes a fancy to him and uses him for pleasure or to conceive." - in that same matter-of-fact tone that Arisa used, back in the tent, clearly as confused as Arisa had been, on what was the point of even asking.

Corvyn's mouth worked wordlessly, in shock, and a touch of fear, as Elestria's expression hardened.

"You mean you just... torture them, rape them, then kill them?!" - she growled, despite realising what thin ice she was threading on. She got a good enough idea from Arisa, on their mindset in these matters. Anyone not under 17, was fair game. And frankly... given the emotions running back in the camp, regarding Arisa... what would have happened to her in the end, had she not interceded back there? Probably... the same thing this man was going through, here.

Strega narrowed her piercing gaze, approaching. Not in anger, precisely, just... annoyed confusion. She crossed her massive arms, once close.

"You take an occassional captive from the Tribes, yes? Not many, our warriors do not allow themselves the dishonour of captivity, if they can help it, no matter the tribe they hail from. They fight to the death, or choose death by their own blade, if in danger of being taken. How do you deal with your war captives? Aside from Arisa, whom you released for your purposes, else I assume she would be used, then killed. She did allow herself to be taken, which is already a shame on her soul. Doubly shamed, now that she had been freed, something that she would live with, for the rest of her days. Did one of your males not found her to his liking, wishing to impregnate her? What use would she be, as captive, if not for information, and pleasure? Perhaps procreation?" - the woman asked, honestly curious. That same, primal, savage, yet... strangely innocent glint, in her eyes.

Elestria's mind worked overtime, trying to think of a way she could... explain to this woman, why she saw this as so... abhorrent. At the very least, the amazon whipping the bound man, had stopped for the time being, clearly as curious as everyone else, why this was such a problem, for their guests.

"Come on... THINK!" - the knight-commander yelled at herself in her mind. Alright... outside the box.

"Have you considered that he may have a family, back where he hails from? A loved one, a child? Would you deprive the child of a father?" - she asked Strega. She deliberately didn't add 'or a wife of her husband', since she assumed that sentiment would be seen as weakness, by the amazons.

"Of course not. Our children's fathers are all from friendly tribes, and are allowed visit, at the appointed months of visitation. As long as they are not made-fathers." - Strega explained, in stride, clearly not even having to think about it.

"What is a... a made-father?" - Corvyn asked, controlling his revulsion and fear, before Elestria could ask the same thing.

"What do you think? A male who is captured, then used to father a child. A made... father. A father not willing. A father used for that purpose, then killed. Perhaps what you would be, if not under truce." - one of the other women, nearest to him, answered, equally matter-of-factly. The way she swallowed the young man with her eyes, giving him a hooded gaze, made it clear she would like to be the one - taking him, in that eventuality.

As horrible as it sounded, her tone did not contain any malice, or gloating. Literally. She was speaking about it as matter-of-factly as she might have spoken about the weather today. Somehow, that was even more... chilling. Corvyn found himself shuddering involuntarily, while Elestria's face was carved from stone. She wanted to hate these women, for their outlook. She really did... but their... innocence... in talking about it, made it surprisingly difficult. They literally saw it as the way of the world.

"And the Empire thinks it can conquer these people... ?? The Crimson Plains will be our final resting place, if we do not leave them in peace. All of us." - she thought, uneasily.

"Same as made-mother. Enemy tribes when capture females in wartime... often use them for mothering. Males have it easier, I think. At least not spending nine months carrying, before being killed. It's over quick mostly, for made-fathers." - another amazon put in, with a chuckle. This elicited a round of musical laughter, from all the women around, as if they just shared a dirty joke. Again, try as hard as they might, neither of the Thelcorians could detect any malice in it.

With an inward sigh, of... inevitable acceptance, Elestria realised that her morality argument wasn't even penetrating. There was nothing TO penetrate. No... evil intent. No conscious malice. Nothing to find traction against. In these people's worldview, they were doing nothing wrong. It was nature. Natural law, to them. She bit her lip, hard enough to draw a trail of blood from it, glancing with sympathy, at the bound man, shuddering against the tree, blood dripping from his back to the soaked ground. The amount of redness around it, made it obvious, that that particular tree was often used for this purpose. Desperately trying to think of another avenue of persuasion. But nothing came.

Strega followed her gaze briefly. Perhaps intuitively, she nodded.

"Your ways are different from ours, Thelcorian. Nothing wrong with that. As long as mutual respect is given." - not asking a question, just making a statement.

Elestria raised her gaze, tears suddenly in her eyes. Furious at herself, she tried to suppress them - the last thing she wanted to show here, was weakness and sentiment. The taller woman regarded her evenly, for a long moment. Her expression twitched briefly.

"Cut him loose." - she ordered curtly, off to the side, to the amazon whipping the man.

"Matron...?" - that woman cocked her head to the side, confused, but reluctantly obeyed, pulling a dagger from the back of her waistline, and slitting the ropes binding the captive to the tree. He collapsed in a shuddering, moaning heap.

"As gesture of good faith, she-Knight, I will let you take this one home, as you depart. If you depart while under truce. If you convince me your story of the Battle of a Thousand Falling Stars, is truthful." - Strega resumed looking at Elestria, her tone even.

"Also, we will not interrogate, or use, any more captives while you are here. That is as much as I will give. Along with advice for your warriors: Do not lay down your arms. Do NOT surrender in battle, if you are losing. Fight to the death, or take your own lives in honour. We view captives in the lowest esteem, as dirt, nothing more then chattel to be used, then disposed of. Cowards and weaklings!" - contemptuous snarl seeping into her voice, at the last word, as her fist briefly clenched, steel-wire muscles moving visibly under her skin, a trail of blood seeping from her palm, from how hard she clenched it. Several other women around, nodded in agreement.

Elestria looked at Corvyn, who looked about as... conflicted and distraught... as she felt. But he nodded slowly, with a sigh. They both realised this was literally as much as they would get. Yet they also realised, that whatever else these people were, and they were... undeniably savage... by Thelcorian standards of civilisation... they followed their own code of honour. They weren't evil, per se. As terrifying and abhorrent as it seemed to her and Corvyn, there was no malice to be found, here.

"Thank you." - she looked back at the Warmatron, then at the man who was now carried, somewhat gently, to one of the huts, presumably to have his bloody welts bound. Not caring, she wiped the tears from her eyes.

Strega's expression was inscrutable, as she wordlessly turned and walked off again, motioning them to follow.

***

AMBUSH AT THE DORZIAN CAMP

Late evening, as the sun was already beginning to make it's stately path towards the treetops in the West, the debate around the bonfire in the central clearing, next to the Matron's hut, was not yet concluded. Strega was a tough sell. Significantly tougher then Arisa. Perhaps not surprisingly, given that the discussion was now happening on their host's terms. In hindsight, Elestria considered that Arisa may have been partly humouring them, just for the chance of being helped to escape. Also, rather annoyingly, the Head Huntress herself wasn't even allowed to be present. Both Thelcorians could have used a... hopefully supportive... voice, in the natives' ranks. But in Strega's words, Arisa's presence would 'cloud the issue', given her 'shame period' in being captured.

Corvyn privately assumed that that was just Dorzian-speak for 'I don't want her taking your side'. Which was frankly smart, on their hostess's part. It hadn't made their job of making their case, any easier, but the woman was definitely more then met the eye. There was a keen mind, behind that imposing mountain of hardened muscle, and piercing, evaluative gaze. She was a leader.

"Tell me about your... Empire." - the Matron suddenly spoke, to Corvyn, interrupting Elestria's current presentation of a harrowing account, of one of the few survivors of the Massacre.

He blinked in some confusion, at the non sequitur, as Elestria paused, somewhat miffed.

"Uh... as we understand, from your Head Huntress's explanation, you have travellers, scouts and various drifters, all over the Empire. What could I tell you that you don't already know?" - he asked the woman.

"We do know much. But only up to a point. And much of what we know, we don't really understand. I want to hear it in your words. And leave the 'we' out. I am asking you alone, Knight Corvyn." - Strega replied evenly, carefully watching the young man, as she sat cross-legged opposite the bonfire, idly playing with one of the decorative bone jewellry pieces, around her neck.

His attention was drawn to the piece. Only belatedly, did he realise that those looked like... finger bones. The tips of human finger bones. A stack of five, on a string. Possibly one person's hand, once. Mentally shaking his head, he forced himself to meet her piercing gaze again.

"Well... the Thelcorian Empire was founded, in the Selnitri Age, about... three thousand years ago, give or take a dozen years, by the First Emperor, Armand of Thelcor, the Unifier, on the shores of Aratlan Sea, far to the south. Before then, the entire area was not dissimilar to Ser'Adul. A myriad of tribal nations, vying for supremacy. Armand himself, reputedly was the warlord of one of the primordial tribes, as he--" - he began, then paused, seeing the woman's gaze narrowing slightly.

"The... Unifier?" - she repeated, slowly, weighing the word with strange... significance. Around the bonfire, a number of the other women attending, looked at each other as well.

"Is there a problem?" - Corvyn asked, carefully, not sure what was going on.

He was ignored, as a sudden circle of hushed whispering, echoed around the fire, between the amazons. The Matron herself stood up in a limber motion belying her size and bulk, pacing away, hands clasped behind her back, clearly in thought, her gaze distant.

"Their convocate is called the Unified Tribes of Sar'Adul." - Elestria whispred in his ear, catching on, "Call it a hunch... but I think history is being repeated here. At least trying to be. I think the Chieftain wants to become Emperor, of a new nation. And I think these ladies are none-too-interested, in being lorded over, by a man. I think he engineered the so-called 'Battle of the Thousand Falling Stars', to give the tribes in the area, a rallying point. The..." - as Corvyn finished, soberly, "...foundation of an Empire. A standing army. Consolidation."

"But how does he intend to remain in control, once the war is over...?" - the young Knight wondered in a whisper, more to himself then to Elestria, before shaking his head. "He will not... WANT it to be over. He will need the war, to justify the continuing consolidation of power. Until the unification becomes a fact of life."

"And at the same time, he would be quietly building his own personal Guard, handpicked from all the tribes. A loyal cadre, to quell any resistance, if needed. What better time then wartime, to justify that?" - Elestria growled. Only belatedly, did she realise that she spoke the last part somewhat out loud.

She looked up, to find Strega standing before them. An expression of barely-contained fury, on her face. She motioned the two to rise, stepping back slightly.

"Is that the path to your... civilisation?" - she asked simply, clearly making a heroic effort to keep her rage in check.

"I am afraid so, Matron Strega." - Elestria squarely met her gaze.

The fierce woman nodded, clapping a hand on the knight-commander's shoulder.

"I did not understand! None of us did. Not until this moment. But it begins so... slowly. Innocently. Almost invisibly. Out of... necessity. Doesn't it?" - she asked, her tone still laced with suppressed rage.

"Necessity? Ambition? Lust for power? One often gets confused for the other two." - Corvyn put in, somberly, the young man sounding much older then his years.

"How does it end?" - one of the other women around, asked, fingering her spear. This one looked very young, probably Corvyn's own age.

"Look at us. Look at the Thelcorian Empire. There's your answer. And I do not think, it ended for us yet. Not even close." - Elestria replied, glancing briefly in her direction.

Strega nodded, stepping away, and ripping out one of the spears, from a symbol that could be seen standing, next to her hut. It was a crude circle, with many spears attached to it with brass and nails, all tips pointing to a single central disk. Each spear represented a single tribe, of Sar'Adul. The symbol was a representation of the Unified Tribes.

Stepping into the centre of the clearing, she snapped the thick hardwood shaft of the spear, in two, as easily as she might have snapped a twig, throwing the two halves, into the bonfire.

"NEVER!!!" - the amazon queen howled, her powerful cry rising into a warcry, the rest taking it up, in unison. Several of them picked up the desecrated Unified Tribes symbol, and rolled it into the fire.

Before the cry had died down, sounds of shouts, metal clashings of weapons, and death screams, began to be heard, around the outskirts of the camp. Almost instantly, the cry faded, as one of the treetop sentries rushed into the clearing at a dead run.

"We are being attacked! A large warband of Imperials have stumbled into our traps! Some perished, most broke through! We are clashing with them all along the outskirts!" - the woman spoke harriedly.

"They must have followed us! But how-- I assure you, Matron, we did not lead th--" - Elestria started, before Strega cut her off with a chopping motion of her hand.

"Save the assurances for the weak, and the dead! I only need to know one thing from you, she-Knight - whose side will you and your underling fight on, in this battle?!" - the woman hissed, one of her massive scimitars in her hand.

Elestria glanced at Corvyn. He nodded, almost instantly. There really wasn't a choice to be made here. The fact that they were followed at all, meant that the Guard probably knew all about their treachery. And the Paladin would know, as soon as he returned. Plus, given Alidor's insistence on taking most of their first-echelon units on the raiding mission, there were precious few companies left, with the operational mobility to move this far afield, as most were tasked with guarding various points of the Thelcorian line.

"Mercenaries?" - he asked.

"Mercenaries." - she nodded.

"DECIDE!" - Strega prompted.

"We fight with you. We have nowhere to go back to, in any case." - Elestria addressed the woman.

"Fair enough." - was Strega's curt reply, before she rushed off, both blades in her hands now.

The battle was fierce, yet surprisingly short. As it turned out, even as skilled as they were, the Iron Wolverine mercenaries made a mistake, trying to take on the Dorzians on their home turf. Plenty of traps remained untriggered, and the amazons were none-too-reticent in leading their enemies directly into them. Also, the forest worked to their advantage, as the lightly-clad, nimble Dorzians could climb trees, attack from above, encircle, flank and outmaneuvre their more clumsy, weighted-down enemies. The mercenaries were better warriors then the average footman, though, and also better armoured, not on the same level as Knights of the Guard, but definitely more protected then the average chainmail-wearing footman. In close quarters or one-on-one, it was quite an even match, the amazons being generally physically stronger and more agile, while the mercs were better armed, and better protected.

Strega was a force of nature of her own, keeping a small cadre of her best warriors near her, as she worked the southern outskirts of the camp, where the fighting was the heaviest. Corvyn helped where he could, ever-mindful of the fact that his typical fighting style was ill-suited to fighting without armour. He managed to find a shield, from one of the fallen mercs, which did help, to a point, but he still stayed alert for flanking attacks. Without his plate, any stray cut or stab could be fatal. He did appreciate the added mobility, of course. And he could see how the Dorzians and other tribals found this style of fighting, advantageous. But he didn't have their stamina or strength.

Meanwhile, Elestria was also helping where she could, her massive claymore's reach advantage serving her well, against mostly arming sword or battle axe armed mercs, while their shields didn't really do much to stop the massive momentum of the heavy blade. However, she was after a very particular prey. Alana Serkios. There was no doubt the woman was leading her company in battle, just as there was no doubt she was the one who Alidos left behind, to keep an eye on things. She wouldn't be hard to find, as almost all the mercs were male.

And there she was. A shortish, thickset, strongly built woman, keeping a tight, economical fighting stance with her axe and shield, as she traded slashes, stabs, crosscuts and parries, with a pair of spear-armed Dorzians trying to flank her. Both amazons were taller then her, and pound-for-pound stronger, but the defensive stance, with the shield close in the midguard, while she used her axe to good effect, to hook and redirect the spear stabs, worked well against the amazons' more exposed, sweeping style. Her splint mail did a good job catching the odd stab that made it through. At the same time, the two Dorzians' reach advantage allowed them to remain out of easy reach of her own attacks, however. That battle would take a while.

Elestria rushed towards the three combatants, ducking an overhead slash from one of the other mercs, who charged her. Snarling, she brought her claymore in a vertical slash down on his head, which he blocked with his shield, but barely. He shoved forward, closing the range, shield-bashing her in the face, drawing a trail of blood from her nose, as his sword arm came in a sweeping uppercut towards her chin. Hastily, the woman leaned back, evading, before she gripped her claymore in a half-swording stance; gripping it by the hilt, and mid-blade, to shorten the reach, while increasing angular power and leverage. This close-in, he had the advantage, and that armour of his would take some creativity to get through, without the momentum of reach.

With a roar, he charged behind a series of slashes of his arming sword. Crosscut, which she deflected. Overhead slash, which she parried with the midpoint of her blade, leaving him open for a quick kick to the sternum, sending him staggering back, breaking his momentum. Shifting the blade, she stabbed forward, keeping the half-sword grip, for added leverage, aiming for the seam of his chainmail, between the left pauldron and his chestpiece. Hastily, he batted it away with the edge of his shield, but that left him open for a pommel-bash to his temple, as she pivoted the claymore around it's axis. This close-in, half-swording was definitely the way to go.

He staggered, blood pouring from his temple, getting into his left eye, leaving him with a blindspot, as he tried to blink it away. Taking advantage, Elestria circled to the left, forcing him to pivot, as she tried another stab at the seam, this time between his chestpiece and his backplate. This time, he was a shade too slow to deflect it, given his blindspot. The blade found it's way deep between his ribs, skewering his left lung, and nicking his heart. He palsied, stumbling, blood pouring from his mouth, as he coughed wetly. Elestria pulled the blade out, then brought it down in an overhead slash, at his right shoulder, cutting almost halway-through his torso, then with a roar, kicking him to the ground, off the blade. He was dead before he went down.

She turned her attention back to the trio. One of the amazons was dead, her skull almost cleaved in two, as Alana's axe clearly found it's mark. The other one was on the back foot, as the mercenary woman was trying to pin her against a tree.

"Good... I'd like to kill you myself, bitch. You were always after my job..." - Elestria thought, taking advantage of Alana's focus on her one remaining opponent, to charge her back, bringing her claymore down in a devastating two-handed overhead chop, that no shield could block, unless wielded by a super-human. Which the woman wasn't.

But almost as if sensing it, the mercenary woman twisted aside, taking the unseen chop sliding along her shield's edge, redirecting it into the ground, at the same time slamming her axe across the amazon's spear, covering herself from that angle as well.

"Predictable... Knight-Commander!" - she snarled, kicking Elestria HARD into her chest, sending her off her feet, as her axe came chopping down towards her gut.

"GAH!" - Elestria howled in pain, half out of breath, as she rolled, the axe still grazing her flank, painting a bloody line, beneath her blouse. Furiously, she slashed her claymore upwards and forward, keeping the other woman at bay, as she tried to get back on her feet.

The amazon behind Alana used the opportunity, to try a stab towards the woman's back, but it missed any of the armour's weak points, only leaving a dent in the splint mail. Blindly swinging her shield arm behind her, on instinct, the merc woman slammed her shield's face into the spear, sending it wide off-centre, leaving the amazon wide open, as she completed the pivot, her axe burying itself in the amazon's flank, right below the breast, before the woman could back off.

With a wet gurgle, the wild woman collapsed to her knees, blood gushing from her flank, as Alana yanked the axe out of the dying body, shoving it down on it's back with one booted foot, then turned her attention back to the former Knight-Commander of the Guard.

In desperation, Elestria grabbed a handful of dirt from the ground, throwing it into the other woman's face, blinding her momentarily, as she rolled back further, finally getting back to her feet, gripping her claymore tightly, as she felt the axe-graze burning in her flank. How badly was she bleeding? She didn't dare look.

"You were never a match for me, harlot. Alidos's strutting little baby sister, getting a big job in the Guard, on account of her looks, and connections? Pathetic. I should've been there, from the start. I'm a fighter by my own merit, not a slutty poster-girl like you. I clawed my fair and square way, all the way from the gutter, to leading my own merc outfit. And given your treachery, things would've turned out different." - Alana growled, advancing menacingly.

"Yaaah!" - Elestria swung her claymore in a wide slash, keeping her distance. She didn't dare get close to the woman. Easily, Alana caught it on the shield, then chopped down her axe on the blade, sending it downwards, and jarring Elestria's wrists, as she stepped-in, kneeing the taller woman to the gut, directly into the already-throbbing graze she suffered.

"AAAAGHH!" - Elestria collapsed to the ground, dropping the claymore, as a flash of pain shot up from her gut. Desperately, she scrabbled back away, from Alana, who continued to advance, faster, landing a brutal kick to the woman's chin, sending Elestria sprawling on her back, on the ground, half-knocked out.

She stepped onto her injured stomach, provoking another howl of agony, from the other woman, as she lifted her axe high, in line with the downed woman's neck.

"Pathetic." - she muttered. But before the axe came down, a shape came charging into her back, body-slamming her into the ground, to land atop of her.

Corvyn.

"MILADY! GET UP! I'VE GOT HER!" - he shouted, elbowing the mercenary woman to the face, as he tried to wrestle her axe from her other hand. Unsuccessfully.

"Really? You've got me, Sir Babyface?" - the thickset woman smirked, sliding her knee between them, and easily shoving him off of her. The blow to her head didn't even phase her, aside from a trail of blood from her right cheek, as her axe came chopping down towards his thigh. With a snarl, Corvyn managed to twitch his leg out of the way - barely, scrambling to his feet, squaring off with her, shield and arming sword at the ready.

"Look at this, E. Mister wet-behind-the-ears loverboy came to protect you! Awww. Too bad for him. Now you both die." - she growled, advancing on the young knight, flipping her battle axe to a crosswise stance.

"C-Corvyn! Watch out... she's fast..." - Elestria shouted, voice laced with pain, as she tried to sit up, supporting herself on a tree. Her head was KILLING her. And her gut was SCREAMING in pain.

He swallowed, adopting an economical, defensive stance of his own, gripping his appropriated shield close to his mid guard, wary of leaving the edges too far out. No doubt she would try to hook it away, with her axe's spiked end, and expose him for a chop to the midsection. Meanwhile, he kept the sword low, ready for an upward crosscut. Not really knowing what it would do against her armour, even if it got past her shield. This was not good. If he were wearing his plate, he could risk opening his stance up a little, and looking for angles. But without it...

Alana charged, with a diagonal chop, seemingly aimed at his shield's lower-right. He blocked, reciprocating with a slash towards her axe arm, hoping to catch her across the fingers as she withdrew it. But faster then he could blink, her shield came chopping down onto his blade, forcing it down, as she body-checked him backwards, throwing him off balance. In a blinding flash of metal, her axe's blade reversed direction, as she flipped it to a standard grip, sending it vertically toward his forehead, above the guard.

The only thing he could do, is let himself drop down onto his back, lest the top of his head gets cleaved off. In a flash, she was atop of him, pinning him down with one boot. Enraged, he slammed his own shield into her shin, with a roar.

"Unggh..." - Alana stumbled to the side, dull pain spreading through her leg.

Instead of rolling away, to give himself room to get back up, Corvyn followed through, slashing the sword at the tendons behind her suddenly-exposed right knee. Her segmented splint armour didn't cover her at all, below the knee.

"AGH! You bastard.. !" - the woman screamed in pain, as her right knee suddenly refused to support her weight, leaving her with one functional leg. The tendons were severed, blood gushing down her calf.

Clumsily, she staggered in place, hopping on one leg, as she tried to reestablish balance. Corvyn kicked out at her gut, sending her down to her back, as she had no balance to maintain, with only one leg, before he scrambled back to his feet.

"You were saying?" - he growled, with renewed confidence, as she chopped her axe vaguely at his sternum, him advancing on her. He deflected it aside with his shield, then slashed his sword at her outstretched axe-hand, this time indeed catching her across the fingers, making her drop it, with a sharp intake of breath. Her thumb and mid-finger were severed, making her grimace in pain.

She glared up at him, eyes narrowed. But she didn't reply immediately, as she brought her shield arm close over her, to guard.

"Just get it over with, Guall." - her tone unreadable, aside from the overtone of pain, cold eyes steady on him.

Hesitating only a moment, he kicked the shield out of the way, before stabbing the sword into her throat, and through her spinal chord, in the neck, killing her instantly and cleanly. Then he rushed over to Elestria, gently helping her up.

"Milady? Are you alright?" - he hugged her gently, as she chuckled.

"Been better, Knight. But I'll live. For the life of me... I thought we were both finished. I... I've underestimated her. Badly. And you, Corvyn... you surprise me! Good... good job!"

Corvyn looked around the battered amazon camp, at the battle, which was dying down. Most of the mercenaries were dead, and those that weren't, were running for their lives, being mercilessly pursued and hunted down to the last man, by the Dorzian women. No quarter was given.

"I just hope we've convinced her. Or our survival is a moot point." - he sighed.

"You did." - Strega's chuckling tone sounded, right behind them. He jumped sligthly. For someone that large and powerful, the woman had an uncanny talent for being impossible to hear, when she wanted to.

"You fight well enough, Knight. As does your lady." - she added.

She was bleeding from several cuts, on her chest, left breast, and right arm, as well as a rather deep gash across her left cheek, and a trail of wet fur, down her right, animal-hide covered leg, likely covering a gash beneath. But from her tone, she didn't seem to even notice her wounds.

"Do you even feel pain?" - the young man asked, wonderingly, with a trace of awe at her poise.

Strega's chuckle widened, as she licked a few drops of her own blood, pouring from her cheek.

"If I didn't, I would know I was dead! I feel pain, boy. I just don't let it rule me. Think of it as a survival trait. And don't be afraid of pain! Learn to see it as your friend. A reminder that you are alive." - she winked, helping him take the badly-weakened Elestria, into one of the huts.

"Take care of her. And yourself. You will be brought water, herbs and bandages."

"How... how many have you lost?" - Elestria asked, softly.

"Not as many as I would have, if you had not fought with us. Rest. The coming days will be... interesting." - the amazon queen assured her, a trace of anger seeping into her tone at the last word, before she left, with barely a sound, leaving them alone in the hut.

***

EPILOGUE

The coming days on the bloodsoaked battlegrounds of the Crimson Plains, were indeed interesting, to say the least. The lines, once so clear, were blurred now, thirty thousand lost lives later. Enemies became friends, friends became enemies. The Unified Tribes were shattered, Chieftain Mardul's dreams of an empire shattered with them. The old man himself, was slain by his own son Inon's hand, as the only recourse the young berserker had, to preserve his family's honour, and his tribe's future, from being attacked and slaughtered, by all the other tribes combined, in light of his father's... cowardice. Mardul was not permitted the honour of holding a blade, or looking his killer in the eyes, as he was struck down from behind, like a lamb in a slaughterhouse. As stories went, all he said, before his death came, was...

"You cannot stop the future. You can only postpone it."

Inon Hama'Hez Hadaad, the new Chieftain of the Bloodspirit tribe, and Strega Oli'fyr, Matron of the Dorzian matriarchy, despite their differences, managed to avoid war between their peoples. Largely thanks to the rogue Knight-Commander Elestria and Knight Corvyn's mediation between them, as well as Elestria's... charms... over Inon. Also thanks to the traitors' inside knowledge of the Thelcorian battle lines and tactics, the two tribes, as well as elements of several others, slowly, but surely, chipped away at the Thelcorian army's strength, in a series of protracted guerilla campaigns lasting several years, until finally the Emperor himself recalled the massively weakened expeditionary force back to the depths of the Thelcorian Empire, as old adversaries of the nation had smelled weakness, and were marshalling to strike.

Paladin Alidos Draven, was slain in battle, during one of the last stands of the Thelcorian expeditionary force, four years later. His pain over his nephew's death, and his lust for vengeance, blinded him to the overtures for peace, made by the tribals, as well as his sister, whom he considered a traitor beyond redemption. Unyielding to the end, he never bent. He broke. His death was the catalyst, that eventually made the Thelcorians retreat, after losing over two-thirds of their entire expeditionary army.

Elestria had settled down with the Bloodspirits, becoming Inon's mate. They had many children together, and the Hama'Hez line would endure, for a thousand years. She never looked back, on her life in the Empire. Corvyn... he entertained notions for a while, of returning to the Empire, as he finally accepted that he would never have Elestria, even though they remained close friends, for the rest of their lives. But he was branded a traitor alongside her, and showing his face anywhere back home, would mean certain imprisonment and execution. So he settled down as well, taking one of the Dorzian women as his mate, and found happiness, himself.

Many of the other tribes of Sar'Adul, returned to their infighting, now that the threat of outsiders was gone. With no figure to rally them, and no threat to keep them from dissipating, life on the slopes of Mount Sar'Adul returned to what it had always been - a chaotic, wild existence of intermittent war, death, and daily struggle for survival. But the tribals would have had it no other way. It made them ever-stronger, ever more fiercely independent. They had adapted some of the knowledge and technology of their southern neighbour, over the centuries, but they never adapted civilisation, as cautionary tales of the 'Unifier' were told, down the generations, as a demonic figure who would take away their independence and strength, and erase their tribal identity, turning them 'civilised'. Weak. Pathetic. No figure like Mardul ever rose again, as the long memories, and shamanistic tales of the tribals made certain of that.

As it turned out... Mardul was wrong. The future could indeed be stopped. Through betrayal, lust, shattered ambitions, and peace.

THE END