An excerpt from the Great General's Speech to the conquered foes of Val'Indine

I congratulate you all on a war well fought. The time of battle has ended and now the time of rebuilding has arrived. Place down your weapons and pick up your tools, for you now represent a part of us. There will be new rules, new laws that bind you to us. Do not fight against them. They exist to strengthen us as a whole.

A look of disapproval crosses Martin’s face as he looks at the men and women gathered around him. These are the best Farringham has to offer? They are barely able to hold their weapons correctly, he thinks to himself.

Sword and spears, surprisingly well made despite the towns lack of experience, are held by every member of their group and they all wear leather armor dyed mottled grey. The color scheme allows them to hide in the shadows of the forest, or it would if these townsfolk had any idea how to sneak through the wilderness. The regular sound of snapping branches, muttered curses, and clinging metal announces their presence like a warning alarm.

Shaking his head, Martin crouches into the shadows and begins walking through the forest with the trained skill of a practiced forester. His eyes scan the foliage and dirt, picking out the perfect place for each of his steps. Step around that branch, avoid the mud that would leave a footprint, keep away from the twig that would snap; these and a thousand other observations flow through his mind.

He hadn’t expected much when he’d accepted the offer from the Old Man of Farringham but hell, even then he’d expected more than he’d received. The Old Man had promised a group of practiced fighters, not this band of novices who could barely hold their weapons straight.

That’s what I get for accepting this contract. Didn’t do my due diligence and it’s going to bite me in the ass, he muses to himself. As if to perfectly display this point, a sharp crack emanates from behind him, quickly followed by the thump of a large body and a string of creative curses.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Martin ignores the idiotic bumbler, making a mental note to smack him later on, and climbs up into the branches of a thick tree. A quick wave is all that’s needed to send his band of misfits scurrying behind wide trunks and collapsing onto their asses. They’d only marched for a few hours and they were already tired.

Martin closes his eyes makes a vow to himself. This is the last time I accept a job from these fucking people. Only good contracts from now Martin, no more of these petty rivalries between towns.

Sighing in annoyance, he opens his eyes and begins scanning the area in front of them. They’d been given a rough position of where their prey would be and, if his maps were right, they’d be passing through this area in the next hour or so.

As he’s scanning the surrounding area, a soft glow of light coming from the distance gets his attention. It seems to be getting closer as the minutes go by, moving in a direct pattern towards him and his group. A forest fire? No, the pattern is too consistent, it would be way more chaotic. Are the targets carrying torches? The Old Man said they’d be sneaking through but … well shit, none of what he’s told me so far has been true.

Bringing his hands to his mouth, Martin makes a soft bird call. Unfortunately, the idiotic band doesn’t seem to realize that it’s the pre-arranged signal. Cursing under his breath, he loudly whispers down at the leader just a few dozen feet away from him. “You morons, we’ve got incoming. Get prepared.”

The leader, leaning against the tree half-asleep, shakes awake with a jolt and looks around him as if surprised to hear Martin’s voice. He then follows the command and begins murmuring to the rest of the group, causing them to reluctantly get on their feet and prepare their weapons.

I swear to all hell, these idiots are going to be the death of me, Martin thinks to himself as he pulls his bow off of his back and removes the protective covering. It takes him a few extra seconds to get it prepared, checking for moisture damage and stringing it, but it ensures that the bow will last longer than any of the unprotected weapons wielded by the morons below. Water and time are worst enemies of any weapon, not damage from battle.

He then begins looking through the dark shadows of the forest, eyes hunting for the source of the light. Shapes and sights that would be obscured to the average person look as bright as day to his eyes. It was, perhaps, the greatest benefit of his Class. He was a Night Ranger; no darkness would ever keep him from seeing his prey.

The source of light reveals itself after a few moments and Martin can scarcely believe his eyes. He’d expected some torches, maybe a group of soldiers with a Class based Skill. He did not expect, however, a young man of no more than twenty years confidently walking through the forest with glowing tattoos.

As if without a worry in the world, the young man walks right into the middle of their ambush and then stops. He spins around, looking directly at some of the trees that hide the ambushing force, and then begins to talk as if he knows that they’re there.

“We know that you’re out here”, he says with that strangely confident smile. The glow coming off of his tattoos fills Martin with a sense of uneasy apprehension. There’s more to this kid than meets the eye. “Trust me when I say that you all don’t stand a chance of surviving if this ends up turning into a fight. However, if you all show yourselves right now and lay down your weapons we’ll let you live. No reason to shed blood here today. Do you even know who it is that you’re trying to ambush?”

Martin, hidden in the shadows of the tall branches of the tree, arcs his eyebrow at the young man. Who the hell is this kid? Either he’s a moron or the Old Man pulled me into something I don’t want anything to do with.

fore Martin has a chance to do or say anything, the leader of the Farringham group steps from behind his tree and levels his spear at the young man. His face is red, veins prominent on his forehead, and his brows are furrowed as he spits out, “We know who you are. You’re one of the monsters who hurt Nico and Craig, who forced Kat to carry her crippled friend all the way back to town. We don’t want anything to do with you or Cael. Kat has told us all about you four.”

Who the fuck is Cael and why did none of these idiots tell me about this beforehand? This isn’t what I thought it was, I need to get the hell out of here, Martin thinks to himself as he begins slowly moving further along branch and away from this budding confrontation. One hand grips on the bow while the other reaches out to other branches for support, blending into shadows.

As he moves through the branches, he manages to glance downward and see the tattooed kid shake his head, replying, “You’ve got it all wrong. They tried to ambush us, kind of like you’re doing right now. Hell, three of them are still alive! We didn’t do anyth -” Stopping himself, he takes a deep breath and says, “Look, we’re giving you this one chance to lay down your weapons. We aren’t here to hurt anyone. Cael is extending an offer for Farringham to join the new Government of Earth.”

Just before he is about to leap off the tree and into the forest, away from this confusing situation that he’d been dragged into, Martin stops. Government of Earth? Wait … does this kid work for that Prime person I got a notification about?

The leader of the idiots’ scoffs, clearly not aware of the danger that this kid represents. “We know why you’re coming. We don’t want anything to do with your new government kid, we already have one that works for us. So, go on back to your boss and tell him to stay away from Farringham.”

The kid visibly sighs, shaking his head. “Do you really think this is how this is going to play out? You think you can tell the Primus to stay away and nothing will happen?”

Even from his high vantage looking down at the back of the leader’s head, Martin can see the idiots body language change in that split second. An arrogant confidence seems to ooze out of him as he replies, “Well kid, I don’t think anything will happen today. In fact, as a show of good faith, we’ll let you leave with only a few injuries. Little things to pay back for the sick shit you did to Craig. Get on out here boys.”

The rest of the party, nearly thirty of them, step out from behind the trees and level their weapons towards the young kid. Their collective anger is palpable; a few of them curse at him and one even spits.

Martin looks down at the brewing fight with conflicting emotions. It’s obvious that this kid works for someone important, and might have some power himself, but he’s surrounded by thirty people wielding weapons. Even if they don’t know how to use them very well, thirty against one are still terrible odds. I could help him, maybe use that to get some jobs from this Cael fellow. On the other hand, this kid is about to take a beating and I want no part of that. I’ll see how things play out and get involved if they hurt him too bad.

The group quickly surrounds the kid, who looks strangely calm despite being surrounded by people holding spears towards his head. The leader, somewhat thrown off by the confidence, yells at the rest of the group and they go rushing in.

What happens next is the most incredible display of martial ability and power that Martin has ever seen, and he’s watched the gladiatorial matches of the Bahji. He’s watched the Champion of the Wasteland, a monster in his own right, take on ten different fighters and kill them all without a single wound. He’s watched the Eye of the Mountain strike down a dozen men from nearly a mile away.

None of that, not any of those battles that had taken his breath away, is even close to what happens just below him.

The tattoos on his skin burst with a blinding light and he seems to disappear in a flash. Almost instantly, he reappears behind the back line of the group and knocks them all to the ground with lightning fast blows. His hand and feet are blurs, the only trace being the light that seems to drag behind him as if creating a trail of where he’s been.

Within seconds the entire group, apart from the leader, is on the ground unconscious, riddled with broken bones, or suffering some level of brain damage. The leader, pale as a ghost, throws his spear straight at the kid’s face and he just holds up a palm to stop it. The point manages to pierce through his skin but stops after less than an inch. It’s as if the thrown spear, tossed by a man who looks as if he’s invested every spare Attribute Point in Strength, can’t even hurt him.

The kid pulls the blade out of his palm and reverses it. The leader begins to back away, a small puddle of liquid congealing at his feet, and eventually backs straight into the tree that he’d been hiding against.

The kid presses the point of the spear up against his throat. “Cael’s trying to make the world a better place. I’m not going to sit by and watch as every small-time thug with a weapon thinks he can bully his way past our Primus. I gave you a chance to back away. Your men will live, Joselin will make sure of that, but you need to be an example.”

The point pushes into the leader’s throat and his hands come pawing upwards, quickly drenched in the blood that pours out of him like a gutted pig. His fumbling seems to grow weaker and weaker as time passes and he eventually stops. Bright light flares on the kids bare shoulders and he pushes the spear forward into the tree itself, impaling the leader. His pale skin and blood red throat send a message that is unmistakable; mess with us and you will die.