High Commander Ulresh Blackfist sat astride a fine grey warhorse as he oversaw the creation of defensive structures around the tear in reality. All of his troops were uneasy in the Wild Weaves. Many of them could feel the broken Weaves flailing against their skin, feel the very wrongness of reality in this location. Thankfully, no one was dumb enough to cast a spell in the Wild Weaves, at least none of Ulresh’s soldiers were.

The nearby forests were being plundered for building materials and many of his soldiers were dragging massive logs for the craftspeople he had called. The grey warhorse shifted uneasily under him and Ulresh patted him comfortingly. “

Do you suppose the capital will send a force to guard this area and prevent the dandelion eaters from returning? Or will that be our job?”

Ulresh turned to regard Company Commander Narlep. The younger orkin was more darkly skinned, a deep green-brown, rather than the olive green of many of the orkin. “Such slurs are beneath us, Narlep. Call them what they are.”

“Elves,” He spat the word from between his prodigious tusks. “You know my mother was elfkin.” The tone of Narlep’s voice aimed for conversational, but there was a sharp bite to it.

“I understand your hatred, even without so direct a connection.” Ulresh’s tone was carefully neutral in response. “I wish for you to remember that it is not the Elves that we are here to combat.”

Narlep looked puzzled, “Not the Elves?”

Ulresh shook his head and urged his horse forward, Narlep fell into step without even thinking. “It was never the Elves themselves that made the Azmael Empire so objectionable. It is their ideals that make them despicable.The Empire is built on ideals that should turn all good people the world over against them. That it does not, speaks more for the good people of the world than the Elves themselves Come, let us ride the perimeter.”

Already a semi-permanent settlement was taking shape just outside the Wild Weaves. Craftspeople were flooding in to assist with building the barriers around the Tear and providing for the soldiers and craftspeople that would be setting up a permanent home here in Farthess Reach.

“What are they calling the settlement?” Narlep asked after several long minutes of silence.

“They are calling it the Rift Outpost. Though I do hope they come up with a more suitable name before too long.”

“I am surprised they are not calling it Blackfist Outpost. Or something like that.”

“You forget, Narlep, that we were not successful in our mission. We were to stop those blasted elves and fight them to the end. Instead, we have let them escape us, into an unknown world, where they may very well grow stronger. They should not name the outpost for me. Rift Outpost or Farthess Outpost would both be eminently suitable.”

Narlep frowned as he looked at the High Commander, “But, Sir, if we can protect the Rift well enough, the Empire will be the new world’s problem and not ours.”

Ulresh’s face was made for frowning and stern looks, his grey brows drew together over his red-brown eyes and his smaller tusks framed his scowl. “Not our problem?” He shook his head, stunned. “It is our duty to make them our problem, new world or not. Who knows what innocents we have unleashed them upon. No, Narlep, the Empire of Azmael remains our problem. We must find a way to defend this Rift and perhaps find another, undefended, way into the other side.”

The High Commander thought for a moment as he guided his mount around the perimeter of the rapidly rising fortifications. “Narlep, have the Spellweaver brought to me please? I would speak with her about the Rift and the consequences to the Weave.”

Narlep saluted and turned his brown horse back toward the encampment east of the Wild Weaves.

He rode until he had put the tear in reality well behind him, until he had nearly reached the other side of the Wild Weaves. He could feel the un-rightness of the Weave as it flailed against his skin and he suppressed a shudder. Beyond the Wild Weaves stretched the Outlands. He had hoped to push his enemies there, across the borders of the Wild Weaves and into a place where spellweaving was impossible. Storms of Wild Weaves frequently swept the desolate Outlands, changing the very nature of things that they touched.

Would the tear in reality eventually turn all of Charan into something similar to the Outlands? Could it be stopped? If not, would it change all of Rhiorn? To think that the Empire of Azmael could change the world so much just by leaving….

Ulresh shook his head again, his red-brown eyes searched the Outlands for some sign of life as he waited for the spellweaver.She came, nearly half an hour later, riding a leggy brown mare. The horse and rider both appeared very uneasy in the Wild Weaves. The horse’s ears were back and Spellweaver Nya was scratching at one arm as though something were crawling under her skin.

“High Commander,” She said, with a small bow, by way of greeting. “I don’t suppose we could speak somewhere other than the Wild Weaves?”

The High Commander looked back toward the Outlands then looked at her with one raised brow.

“Even that would be preferable.” She responded, urging her mount forward.

“Never let it be said that you are a coward.” Ulresh replied as he urged his mount to follow. “I know it has not been long since last we spoke. I have been unable to rest given the current situation, forgive me for imposing if I had you awakened from yours.”

“No, High Commander. I was studying.”

“Excellent. Can you tell me what you have learned thus far about the tear and what it means?”

Nya at last stopped scratching her arm. “I have been researching the history of the First Tear and the consequences. The Weave was already much weaker where it was Torn this time and so I believe much of the fallout will be reduced. Already the Weave surrounding the Rift, for it is much deeper than the First Tear, is stabilizing.”

“Stabilizing?”

“The warp and weft of the Weave are loose, tattered, Wild, but they are not loosening further than they already have. There should be no Weavestorms from this break in the Weave. However, I anticipate that the Wild Weaves themselves will loosen and may create other Rifts along the borders of the Outlands.”

“Along our border of the Outlands, or all borders?”

“All borders.” Nya spoke firmly as though she had solid evidence that this would be the outcome of the Azmael Empire’s folly.

“Habark’s teats.” Ulresh cursed.

“That is the least of my concerns with this destabilization of the area. I suspect that the Outlands will quickly become more dangerous and unstable. Especially near this Rift and any others that may appear. We need to conduct much more research and the specialists should be here in a few days. Until then, what I can tell you is the Wild Weaves are somewhat wilder than they were before and that they may destabilize further, but we should avoid the extreme fallouts that the Outlands experienced.”

“Is this because of this tear being a Rift?”

“Yes. It has pierced much deeper into the Weave than the First Tear. The damage will likely be much worse on the other side.”

Ulresh cursed again. “I suppose there is nothing more for us to do than to secure the area and protect the Rift we already know about. I will dispatch scouts along the Wild Weave on our side of the Outlands and have it patrolled. Can you send a message to Ward on the other side of the Outlands that they should check the Weave?”

“It will take quite a long time to get anyone to that area of the Weaves to check. The Weaves there are on the Outlands side of the Great Rift. Ward protects from this on the other side coming to Thallengaard, not the other way.”

The High Commander hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps what we can do here will be enough.”

“We can hope.” the Spellweaver responded. “If you have nothing else for me, I shall return to my tent and continue studying.”

“You are dismissed. Thank you for coming all the way out here to fill me in.”

“My pleasure, High Commander.” She responded before she took the leggy brown mare back through the Wild Weaves and toward the Ogrekillian Army camped beyond.