Author: Tanga

These are troubling times indeed.

The priest and prophets wail of the coming of another century war. The great empire of Namburg raises an army in the far north, soldiers churning the earth of their ancestral farmlands as the regiments assemble, parade and drill. Lancers of Namburg ride abroad once more, recruiting where they can, intimidating where they can not, and destroying where they must. Some whisper the Judges move again, emerging from the history books to hunt down the enemies of Namthar and purge the lands of any who would move against him.

Meanwhile, Kossos trembles with the roars of the great behemoth, furious and powerless, chained to the Eastern capital by their Deity to feed, defend, and perhaps control the Federation. The chieftains and generals pour over wargames and battlemaps, as the Godbutchers continue their sacred and grizzly duties behind the blood drenched walls.

It has been almost 3000 years since the world shattering clash between the twin gods Namthar and Alastor, a conflict that left Vaul a broken and shattered world.

The battle left a magic-scared and desolate wasteland in its aftermath, the God-brothers fighting to a bloody stalemate with armies of primitive men, elves and orcs under their command. The “century war” created that ancient bleak and barren world, and it took the survivors hundreds of years to rebuild any semblance of civilisation.

Few records exist, and only scholars and poets speculate as to true cause of the war. Fewer still speculate as to who really won, or how.

And so…the Doomsayers bellow still louder. Rulers and peasants alike bristle and balk at the idea, but in the privacy of their own thoughts, many prepare for the coming conflict, extra mercenaries, a packed backpack by the door, and shadowy alliance in a smoky tavern backroom, or a lonely, whispered prayer in the dead of night. The tension grows, and the noose tightens around everybody’s neck, as the nations stare each other down. The fresh-faced young soldiers of Vaul stand shoulder to shoulder with its grizzled mercenaries dulled blades sharpened once more. If this is to be another century war, all are determined to emerge victorious, or the very least, emerge alive.

But our story begins somewhere much humbler

Our story begins, off the coast of the Silver Strands, aboard a cork-oak Caravel, the Walrus. From a distance, only the bright white sails can be seen, glowing brilliantly against the deep blue ocean breakers that bounce around her. The Walrus skims across the waves, hugging close to the coast, always keeping in sight of the towering grey cliff faces, the imposing wardens and watchers of the rolling meadows and vineyards beyond.

The Sun is now past its zenith and as it lowers itself across the western sky, the Walrus’ shadow grows, stretching languidly towards the beaches.

The days chores are being done, the hempen rope has been coated and tarred, and your arms ache from hours of Whipping, splicing, and reeving the running rigging. The brass fittings gleam, and the chipping hammer must surely be a few pounds lighter so often has it been swung these last few weeks.

Your watch has ended, and you sit in the darkness of the crew quarters with your fellow travellers, thankful for a little shade.

A motely crew, Ernodal, Throkk, Gritgoz, Tulip. Strange bedfellows, but then, these are strange times.

You’re due to make landfall tomorrow, and should arrive in Vicetina within the day, to what purpose, your captain Luca still has not revealed. Buy as he says –Coin is coin and orders are orders.

As you stretch out your stiff muscles, you listen to the slow creak of the wood and lapping of the waves only to have your thoughts interrupted by a high clear tolling of the main bell.

Time to assemble on deck

.

Captain Blackwell slowly folded the parchment into a neat half page and gently slipped the letter back inside the envelope. He reached for his sealing wax and carefully held the wick of the small red stick over the flickering flame of his desk light.

As he waited, he listened to the woody creaks of the ship, as it flexed and stretched out its great length along the waves like a beast awaking from slumber. The Walrus was a good vessel, sleek and fast, they should make Vicetina by the third day. He wondered if he would rather the journey took a bit longer.

The letter of introduction left him ill at ease. It wasn’t like Dominic to dispatch the Iron Stars without a proper briefing.

Worse again, these were barely Iron Stars. A good group, some had proven themselves in a brawl already back in Fairharbour,  but his hold ship hands had done most of the actual sailing.

These recruits were a green and motley group ( He chuckled to himself at his inadvertent cleverness… at least two were literally green… )and he worried he wouldn’t have enough time to train them properly before their first proper fight. He reflected that a few looked like they had seen their fair share of violence, but fighting battles does not a soldier make. He didn’t want a repeat of last time. Dammit Dominic, what the hell was going on? He was much more comfortable with straight forward objectives. Drive away the bandits from here, clear out the ancient cathedral there. Simple and clean, in and out. But the world was going to shit these days and he was being thrown into the middle of it. He was arriving to Vicetina blind. He felt his heart begin to quicken and he suddenly felt very small indeed. The oppressive vastness of the ocean around him made itself known to him and Luca was becoming increasingly aware of his own breathing, sounding laboured and brittle in his ears. He was a speck now, nameless, and he wondered if the vast unknown oceans around him could somehow suffocate him simply with the pressure of too much space, just crush him like an ant through the greatness of it size and his powerless.

The wisps of smoke caught in his nostrils and brought him back to his senses. Shaking slightly, Luca slid his hand on the underside of the mahogany desk until he felt a familiar indentation. He pushed gently and caught the brass seal as it rolled from its hidden compartment. Dripping the wax over the now closed envelope he waited until the shimmering globs formed into a tiny blood red hillock, before plunging the seal down hard into the body of the wax, enjoying the squelch it made as it billowed, swelled and hardened around the seal. He removed the seal and looked down proudly at his handiwork. Wouldn’t have be able to tell the difference himself.

Well, he was none the wiser after his foray into amateur espionage. He knew that Lorenzo Ordelaffi was expecting them, and recruited them for an unknown reason, and for some reason Dominic hadn’t wanted to include any further details in the letter. He wondered who else would read this letter. Perhaps it was the omissions that were most significant. Perhaps Dominic knew he would read the letter. Perhaps he wanted him to.

Staring thoughtfully at the closed envelope, Luca stood up slowly and reached for his pistols lying next to the stack of yellowed maps and parchments. Sliding the ancient weapons into their leather holsters, he tightened his belt and straightened his jerkin. He began to stride towards the door.

The sunlight illuminated the tall, lean shape of the half orc at the prow,  propped against the foremast and staring and the cliffs as the slowly passed by. He had stood silently like that for many hours today. Luca sighed. He was easily the strangest orc Luca had ever met, and that was saying something.

He walked slowly to the half-orcs side , as the breeze picked up  and ran its salty fingers through his beard and hair, cool and refreshing and awakening his weary mind. Throkk tipped his head slightly to acknowledge the captain but otherwise remained motionless. Luca wondered why a gesture of borderline insubordination in a regular crewman felt strangely respectful from the half orc.

Luca said nothing and stared into that same distance alongside his companion. He stared unseeing at remains of the rocky , gorse topped highlands gave way to the richer, softer pastures and croplands of the northern meadows of Vicetina.

He felt the letter sit heavily in his pocket, and wondered what lay ahead.