Winter was no unfamiliar phenomenon to the denizens of the Northern Hammer Tribes; it was no longer a hindrance, but a lifestyle. They had grown used to the frigid whiteout wastes, the swathes of evergreen trees that covered the land, and the towering snow-covered peaks whose shadow they lived in. The children grew up not knowing grass or blue skies, or even a great sun overhead. There was only the permanent gray cloud cover unique to this biome, and the harsh blizzards characteristic of the north.

On a particularly blustery day, a single man trudged through the thick snow, past tents and campfires towards the command building, hastily constructed just yesterday. In his shivering hands he clutched to his chest a letter, sealed with dark red wax, flaking at its edges. Gaggles of hunters and warriors traded jibes and chatted around the warmth of the fires, while children ran round bundled up in thick overcoats and scarves.

Coming up to the command center, he was stopped at the outer perimeter by a tall spiked wooden wall, cobbled together as a simple means of defense against intruders. A pair of guards checked his identity before letting him pass. Within, a powerfully built warrior was drawing up maps and writing on bits of parchment, taking stock of available resources, manpower, and comparing it with known enemy information.

“Sir.”

“What? What is it? Is it the scouts? Have they found anything more about the Chappie Kingdom?”

“The kingdom has sent for you a letter.”

The man was intrigued, gently taking the letter pinched between massive fingers. He spared no time in delicately breaking the seal, skimming the text. After reading it for not more than a couple seconds, he tore it up and tossed it into a slightly shoddy fireplace, watching the bits burn up.

“Fortuitous news. I was worried I would have to create my own casus belli; but this declaration of war solves all of that.”

The messenger was more apprehensive, drawing away from the table.

“But sire, war is quite dangerous at this point in time. We know not when the Void shall awake from their remission and force us into battle again. If we take too much time battling our fellow humans, we risk a two front conflict.”

“Wash away your doubts, and trust in me. I did not rise to be your leader through cheat or luck. I’ve been preparing for this for years, now. And even if those bastards have some hidden cards up their sleeves, I’ve come into quite the blessing.”

“But I thought you did not believe in gods?”

The Hammer King, resplendent in heavy pelts from only the strongest and most fearsome of beasts, stepped closer, covering his servant in his massive shadow. He could even see up close the scars of many close encounters from people and monsters, as well as the notches on his giant buckler, one for every victory. The big guy placed a hand on the little messenger’s shoulder.

“Come with me. I have a little something to show you.”

People waved as their King passed by, morale high. All around were the sounds of a happy, prosperous people, seemingly unperturbed by the evidence of an upcoming war. It was an open secret; training was intensifying, rapid recruiting and militarization, formation of more squads and a few taking lessons in battle tactics. All of it bespoke of an imminent conflict with their great enemy to the west.

It had been a few years since the complete unification of the North. Previously, a few of the most powerful would constantly jockey for power, skirmishing with the Chappie Kingdom for resources to boost their war effort against each other. Entirely inefficient and sorely outmatched, the Chappies sought to conquer the fractured tribes once and for all: until he came.

The first thing anyone ever heard about Hieft was his victory in a tournament between some of the tribes. Few thought much of his success, since new champions often rose every tournament. It was common to threaten, bribe, or even kill champions with the help of a group to take them off the board. The unique thing about Hieft is that he won again, next year.

And then again a third year.

As people began to take notice of this rising star, he was crowned greatest champion of the first annual Tribal Wars. As warriors clashed with sword and spear, Hieft was one of the few to arrive wielding warhammer and buckler. All those who underestimated this unknown challenger who aligned with no tribe had their bones broken or sword shattered upon his shield.

The tribes all appealed to him, wanting to recruit him. But he was not swayed by money, women, or the promise of power. He rejected them all. The last, weakest tribe came to him, on death’s door, and kneeled, asking of him only one thing; to mend the tribes. To put together the pieces, and make something greater. A good world, a better world. And Hieft agreed. Such would be the legend of the great Hammer King.

That was the train of thought the messenger followed as he trod after the big man himself, sticking close to him as they left the safety of their temporary fort and wandered off into the forest. Despite the snow, a significant amount of underbrush sprouted up from the ground, obscuring vision. Eventually the fort disappeared behind trees and brush, and only the natural ambience of wintry animals accompanied the crunching footfalls of boots on fresh snow.

“I understand you’re probably a little skeptical of my decision to go to war right now, since we have enough resources to last a bit longer. I was thinking the same thing, walking alone out here on a nice stroll.”

He pushed past a thorny bit of thicket easily, unnoticing of the person following him barely managing to keep up.

“Remember the star shower a few days ago? Lot of people were telling me about it, saying that it was magical and maybe the gods ordained it as a sign of our golden future.”

As the undergrowth thickened, the little messenger began to notice signs of charred plant life, set ablaze for perhaps a moment before being quenched by snow. Walking further revealed more and more evidence of a short fire, or something akin to an explosion.

“I never really believed in superstition like that. It’s strange to believe in or have faith in a God that I couldn’t see. So I assumed there were none. That everything could be explained with mana and skills.”

Hieft tore apart a path ahead, stepping aside to let his follower see the anomaly. And the servant’s breath caught in his chest.

A massive crater containing a gigantic piece of some ring-like object, many meters wide. A dizzying array of flickering lights and swarms of nanos roving over its surface.

“And then I saw this fall from the sky. I couldn’t believe it, something beyond anything I’ve ever seen before. It even spoke to me, calling me it's new administrator. Could it be an apostle of God? Did it see my progress and choose me to take on the burden of spreading its name? That is the only explanation I can think of. It must be some sort of message, some tacit approval of my journey so far.”

Hieft reached out, watching a portion of the nanos swarm towards him and slip beneath his armor and clothing, covering him in an exoskeleton of metal and machine. With a single swing of his warhammer he had been carrying, he drew back his weapon, and swung.

To the messenger: o, what power! What strength and grace the great Hammer King wielded! With naught more than a single strike he shattered a whole copse of trees, letting them fall softly into the snow.

“With God’s blessing, our victory is assured. The power of these ‘nanos’ shall bless us with strength, agility, and the armor we need to finally have the peace of mind we have always sought. With this, and our skills, there is nothing we can’t accomplish.”

He held out one gloved hand to his servant, the light from the crater falling upon him as the sun began to dip below the skyline once again.

“Let us return. There is much to do.”

Arane crept through the tall grass, dead silent. In the waning twilight, fires were lit and tents erected on the border of the plains. In the distance, the grass turned green and trees appeared, followed by rolling hills with tall snowy peaks as a background. In her view she could already see the sparks of war: a sudden movement of troops on both sides, followed by rerouting trade around the expected battlefield.

Her spiders, small and weak, scouted the camp, informing her of the average level of the soldiers and their gear. A variety of weaponry equipped the various squadrons: pikes, bows, shields, swords, spears, the whole shabang. Average level was around 15. Most had a class like [Soldier], although some had changed to [Veteran Soldier] or a specialization like [Shield Soldier] or [Bowman Soldier]. There were a few outliers, such as [Veteran Spy] and [Skilled Saboteur]; likely planted by the enemy. They even had skills to prevent people from using a simple [Check] on them, though they did nothing in the face of [Scrutinize].

As the nights went by, she had been occasionally nabbing a few soldiers every so often to feed her growth. Taking only nobodies meant she could stay under the radar, as the sheer quantity of soldiers here preparing to go to battle meant her transgressions slipped by unnoticed.

She extended her senses, switching between all the spiders she had spread from here to the city, apparently named Bulwark from the obvious sign above the gate. A bit on the nose, in her opinion. So far the creature- no, the Thing that had slain her once still lurked within the bounds of the city walls. She would not feel safe until it left, which she hoped would happen soon. This city was no place for someone as powerful as her opponent. With that kind of stopping power, they would be much better off toppling a small kingdom and establishing their own country.

So why did they not? What stopped them from claiming a small piece of the world’s pie? Owning a little shard of the world? It did not matter why. The only thing that mattered was the threat remained at large, a constant thorn in her side. Should the army of this country discover her presence, the Thing who called itself Exploratory may return to finish her off- for good.

And then her spider was crunched. She lost her bearings for a second. Who had killed her servant? Switching to a nearby spider, she saw a worn child in ragged clothes, trudging forward in the direction of the city. He had been so weak she could not have sensed him, letting him get the drop on one of her minions.

It seemed for now there would be no disturbance, nor any new players in the struggle for power. For now she would bide her time. It would be her turn to fight soon…

Foile was amazed by the vastness of the city walls, looming over him like some mountain made by man. His legs threatened to buckle under the stress he had endured coming here and the intimidating ramparts as he approached. Quickly, a guard took notice of him.

“A child? Out here? Who might you be?”

Foile’s little kid brain, addled by fatigue, stress, and repressed grief, could scarcely mumble a dejected “I’m Foile'' and nothing else. Seeing the kid at the end of his rope, the guy couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor kid. He didn’t know where the little guy came from, but with the rising incidents of villages being destroyed in skirmishes with the Hammer Tribes, it was probably just a raid defense gone wrong. There was only one thing he could do now.

“You look a little tired kiddo. Don’t worry about anything more, I’ll bring you to a place where you can get help…”

The guard signed off his shift and motioned for the kid to come along.

“The orphanage will be very happy to see you…”

One of the other guards watched him go and turned to his partner.

“Damn Northern Tribes. Can’t they see how much pain they’re causing to innocent children?”

“I dunno. Maybe we’re just not seeing things from their point of view.”