“Messenger, report!”

Duke Vermillion sat on his throne, rubbing his temple slowly, while his face was scrunched up in agonizing thought. Underneath his eyes, dark circles were forming from many nights of low sleep and constant meetings with his war council.

Things were going much more poorly than anticipated, and the bastard Horatio was proving to be just as wily of an opponent as the rumors suggested. Shortly after he killed Asimore, he ordered all his troops near the border of Mournholm, the count’s realm, to launch a surprise attack. He was aiming to take advantage of the Count’s preoccupation with the expedition in to the Northsreach Mountains to keep him from discovering what had occurred until it was too late, and that the Count would already be engaged in battle with various goblin and orc tribes, thus weakening his forces.

However, Duke Vermillion greatly underestimated Count Horatio’s intelligence network. The man was considered one of the four pillars of the kingdom for a reason, and instead of launching his subjugation force into the mountains, he immediately launched it in to Duke Vermillion’s territory, and seized the farming village of Reims as well as the local barony, adjacent to the river Cairn which ran down the center of the Kingdom. However, in a move shocking to Duke Vermillion and quite fortuitous, he stopped his forces there and has not advanced since.

Unfortunately for Count Horatio, the Culaine family was also considered another one of the four pillars of the Kingdom. While he didn’t have the good fortune to have a ready-made army of adventurers already recruited, he did have a large population ripe for conscription, and a massive treasury to recruit mercenaries.

The messenger was dressed in plain military fatigues, sharply pressed and with numerous accents emphasizing the red top and bright white bottoms. He kneeled down with precision and lowered his head, before speaking with the harshly drilled directness their military is known for.

“My lord, General Napolitano is reporting that our forces are ready for deployment. They are only waiting for you to take lead of the formation. We have 20,000 peasant conscripts, 5,000 soldiers from the professional garrison, and counting the Band of Medina, which has just arrived this morning, we are up to 10,900 mercenaries.”

“Hahahaha, excellent! Finally, some good news! Tell General Napolitano to have all troops stand by for departure. We leave the moment I arrive. Magister Hamlin, prepare my entourage! Also, send someone to Garland’s chambers, its time my son showed his abilities by acting as regent while I lead the war effort.”

An older man, wearing layered black robes with long, hanging sleeves, stood up from his small desk in the corner of the room. Several other court attendants were busy transcribing notes and sifting through reports. The older man bows deeply, and acknowledges the Duke’s request with a simple,

“Yes, my lord.” Then, he turns his head slightly towards one of the attendants, nod once, and the attendant gets up and hurries out of the room, followed shortly after by the solemn magister. In spite of the sheer numbers of soldiers they had available, it was absolutely unwise to underestimate Count Horatio. The adventurers assembled under his banner were no joke in terms of quality, despite their severe lack of discipline. Furthermore, the Count had a personal retinue of more the 1,000 highly devoted knights and magicians, who operated more like a cult than anything. That many soldiers willing to fight to the death was just… uncanny. Losses would be high under even the most favorable of circumstances.

The worst part, though, was Count Horatio himself. That was a man so terrifying, it may be more apt to describe him as a hyper intelligent monster. His skill with a blade matched his skill in magic, and both were refined to the point to be considered peerless. He never let a day go by without refining his craft, or so the rumors told. The king had even tried to offer him a dukedom, then an archdukedom, but twice, the Count refused. Instead, the Count focused on hunting monsters for the good of the realm, earning him incredible fame, and displays of his supernatural strength only deepened the adoration of the peasantry, who idolized him as a hero of the realm.

By far, though, the most unnerving part of the Count was his intelligence division. He was always incredibly well informed of events throughout the Kingdom, and seemed to find out far faster than any other lord. That alone, though, is not what made it unnerving. What made it unnerving, was that not one lord in the entire realm has been able to infiltrate the Count’s intelligence division. Every single spy sent disappeared, never to be seen again. Nobody has met anyone that admitted to being part of the group, other than a couple of fakes here and there. They report to the Count, and only to the Count.

At the very least, the man did have a couple potential weaknesses. His army lacked in numbers, and if what little intelligence we received is correct, he never travels during the day, only at night. Rumor has it that this is due to his… eccentricity and paranoia. He never lets up on maintaining security, and from tracking merchant transactions, he is always investing in new weapons and traps for his castle, and armored carriages for travel.

Hopefully, our advanced recon team can shed some more light on these tendencies, and perhaps we can find a hole in his defense so we can crush him smoothly.

Ah, I’m here already!

Having arrived at Magus Francois’ study, the magister had no more time to reflect upon that state of the realm. Fortunately, the Knight Captain was also here, so it saved him a trip to the barracks. Ignoring the shouting match over strategy between the two, he readily inserted himself with the practiced grace of a longtime bureaucrat and administrator.

*cough*

“Ahem, esteemed lords, The Duke is preparing to move out. Gather your men and meet in front of the manor so his entourage may depart, post haste. His Lordship, Sir Garland, shall be managing the realm in our absence, so send your deputies to brief his team on any relevant issues before joining us outside the city. It is quite a large force, so it should be easy enough to catch up.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Archion.

The night-less city.

A metropolis dwarfed only by the Imperial Capital of Dyrrachion, the pride of the Rivellion Empire.

Over a million people called it home, and tens of thousands more in the lush plains of the surrounding area farmed to provide food for its hungry residents. Through the power of magic, the city thrived, and people were able to work night and day, creating almost exclusive shifts of people who would never meet.

Such a massive population made housing extremely hard to manage, and numerous towers of brick and stone filled the city, crammed with its residents for the sake of efficiency. The lower floors of such towers were converted into small, local markets, which abounded with all kinds of local delicacies and foods. The major roads were crowded with people, often avoiding speeding noble carriages like a swarm of mullet evading a predator.

To separate themselves from the peasants and lower nobility, the great and wealthy nobles of the city recently invested incredible sums to build floating islands which dotted the sky. Servicing these islands were the nation’s first small fleets of airships, an extremely recent addition to the forces under the command of the King of Luthas, Lex Calrainne. Such an addition was made possible only because of a leak from the forges of Moeria.

Apparently, a few years ago, a young, obsessive genius arrived in one of our small villages. He claimed to have stolen the technical readouts for Dwarven airships. After some investigation, not only were they the genuine article, but the young man claimed he could read the instructions and reproduce them. This young man, the first human to be able to produce dwarven craftsmanship!

However, it was clear as well that such a talent also bore the signs of lunacy. When the King asked him why he would do something as suicidal as breaking in to Moeria and stealing from the Dwarves, the man simply responded “No fantasy world should go without airships, I would gladly stake my engineering degree on it!”

Many doubted him and thought the King mad for funding such a ludicrous venture, however all doubters were silences when, a year later, the king’s personal flagship rose. It was a large ship, over 50 meters in length, with dozen of propeller engines surrounding each of the sides for lift, and some pointing out to different sides for directions. All of them were powered by an intricate grid of mana crystals which attached to an orb at the helm, instead of the usual wheel used on ships. You simply had to touch the orb, and the ship would move as directed! Most ludicrous of all, it had a unique system which pulled mana from the environment itself to slowly recharge its supply. In this case, the King was extraordinarily cautious, and forbade the use of such technology on any other ships. He did allow the young man to name the flagship, as an honor, and he choose an interesting name indeed. “The Queen Anne’s Revenge.”

Soon thereafter, a massive workshop rose into the skyline of the city, producing new airships at an astonishing rate. The young genius called the workshop “the beginning of industry”. Unfortunately, the dwarves assassinated him before more of his ambitious projects could be unveiled, and the workshop was only able to continue fulfilling its initial mission. For his contributions, the king allowed him to be buried in the royal Mausoleum, a tribute to the unparalleled genius of one E.K. Adams.

However, while business continued on as usual within the city, the Royal Palace was an altogether different matter. Lex Calrainne mentally groaned, skillfully hiding his annoyance behind a stoic royal expression and reinforced by his kingly attire, as today he had to deal with a truly disastrous situation facing his Kingdom. He was old, very old, and since his first son died as an infant, he had no heir to easily carry on his line. He had wanted to retire peacefully, but fate had other plans for him, and now he had to resolve a titanic issue rapidly spiraling out of control.

Before him stood Antoinette Culaine, first daughter of Duke Vermillion, and Henrik von Krauss, second son to Duke Horatio. Both had come to petition the King to sanction the other party, each one claiming the other side acted first to declare war. Unfortunately, their untimely arrival resulted in their petitions devolving into a shouting match and accusations between the two guests.

Antoinette was a gorgeous young woman, symbolic of the Culaine family, and was considered a prodigy for her age. She wore a tight pink dress, with silver heels and a glittery red bow for her hair. Her potential skills were significant enough that she was accepted to attend the prestigious University of Sangkore when she came of age in two year time. Opposite of her was Henrik, who appeared far more gaunt and pale, with his skin almost as white as snow and bearing an almost unhealthy look. He wore well-fitting dark leathers and had a short black-and-red cape trailing him, with an insidious looking longsword strapped to his side. In spite of his fragile appearance, he had an uncanny amount of energy.

“How dare you show your face here, scoundrels! Was murdering my brother not enough for you?!”

“Hah! Murder? You think we wouldn’t have found out about your assassination plans? If not for our timely discovery, my father would be dead right now!”

“Brazen lies! One look at your surprise march into our territory would reveal your insincerity!”

“A surprise march? You were clearly readying an army to invade us, using subjugation as a mere front! We have already lost Reims to your barbaric horde!”

“Hmph, and we have not gone a step further! We are waiting in good faith to negotiate before the king!”

“Hoooooh, negotiate? What is there to negotiate while you are oppressing our people! You need to return Reims to us before we can even consider negotiation!”

The King’s agitation was slowly building, but he was unsure of how to respond to this situation. He was tired of dealing with this, and with all these petty, entitled nobles and their disputes. The only reason he held on was because of his younger twin brothers, both of whom claimed their son was the rightful heir of the kingdom. As he got older and remained childless, their claims grew bolder and more open. He was afraid his death would split the kingdom between each of them and their backers. Worse still, if he acknowledged either one as the rightful heir, he was certain it would split the kingdom anyways after his death, with the losing brother pressing their son’s claims by force. Now, he has to deal with two of his strongest backers fighting each other out of nowhere, further eroding his personal authority.

Then, the doors to the Royal Audience Chamber were thrown open. In the midst of all this chaos, a familiar pair of voices rang out in unison. “Brother, it is time we settled this issue once and for all! Make a decision, whose son will inherit the kingdom!”

Entering the doors were none other than Archduke’s Guilford and Traxis. Both men were still imposing despite their age, and each twin was just as conniving as the other, having built a large coalition across the country. The only difference between the two was their outfits, with Traxis boldly wearing a bright cyan raiment composed of puffy accents over his arms and legs, while Guilford wore a deep crimson raiment more focused on frills and waves.

Neither Antoinette nor Henrik acknowledged the arrival of the Archdukes, and continued their shouting match. The two Archdukes looked at each other, and then back at the spectacle before them, each arriving at a similar conclusion. Manipulative smiles spread across their faces simultaneously.

Lex Calrainne’s grip tightened immensely, slowly crushing the golden arms of his throne and exposing the whites of his knuckles. His day was about to get much, much worse.