Dragon Realm Cypress

The twilight mists rolled over the streets of Dagger Row’s shadows as Long Whisper’s Anti-Rogue Ops silently materialized. The band of humans and elves slowly drew their daggers and swords as they adjusted their crimson red cloaks, waiting for the signal to raid the Vile Goat. They had been briefed that the tavern served as a front for a group of domestic terrorists planning to overthrow King Koda. Each young operative itched with anticipation as they tightened sweaty grips on their blades' hilts.

Long Whisper never truly recovered after its participation in the war against Estinia. Although some chose to forget and move on, hundreds of veterans looked towards the leadership of their king for comfort, but the inexperience of the Mage King left them in perpetual disappointment.

Wiccer hid between two crates in an alley. Sitting against the brick wall, he clenched his quivering fist and grunted through short breaths.

I can do this, I can do this. I've led missions at least a hundred times before! Some more dangerous than this….

He held his eyes shut and chattered his teeth to persevere through the dread and doubt. “Then why does it get harder each time?” he whispered. He looked up and found his sergeant, Elucard, hovering over him. “I'll be ready in a moment, Elucard.”

Elucard looked up to the clear night sky. “Nerves again?”

Wiccer rubbed his shoulders to calm his body, “The dreams get worse every night. It's like I'm back there...in the Forest of the Splintered Skies.”

Elucard stayed silent. He brushed his forehead before adding to the conversation. “I think we all lost a part of our soul back there. I know I have.”

“How do you push on? Will it ever get better?”

The elf lent out his hand to help Wiccer to his feet. He patted his captain on the back. “You just do. Soldier on, Wiccer.”

Wiccer clenched his fist once more. He waited for the shaking to reside before giving the signal for the raid to begin.

***

Crashing doors and shattering windows rang through the Vile Goat as twenty ARO members rushed through every possible entrance of the tavern. Both the ground floor and second floor flooded with red cloaks rounding up and arresting the opposition inside.

Wiccer and Elucard approached from the rear, stepping around overturned tables and scattered chairs. The surprise invasion left little conflict from the terrorists inside the pub. Their meeting was quickly dismantled from the superiorly trained Anti-Rogue Ops. The Watchers shackled their prisoners and kicked the back of their legs, buckling them to their knees. The cries of the men and women rattled through the tavern.

“We Reckoners won't be silent any longer!” “The king has forgotten, now he must fall!” “Hollow be the crown that belongs to a coward!”

Wiccer shook his head, not out of disgust or disbelief, but from the sympathy he had for these wayward citizens. They were veterans of the Varis War, like himself. Soldiers that signed on to defend their home and came back maimed and broken. Some had lost their farms not able to maintain the harvest after being drafted, while others lost work from war-time injuries.

Although Wiccer's king promised them compensation, he did not deliver. It was only a matter of time before these soldiers would rise against the throne.

A group of his soldiers crowded around a defiant veteran. One of the Watchers slapped him across the face with a hefty backhand before spitting in his eye. “Traitorous scum! May you be buried separate from your head, forced to walk the Roaming Plane a freak!”

The veteran was young, but his eyes were worn. He has seen his share of horrors already. “You call yourself a soldier, Watcher?” he hissed, “Aye, the ARO of Long Whisper proved themselves. They cut their teeth in the Forest of the Splintered Skies, but what have you done?” He lifted his chin and puffed out his chest. “You ride on the coattails of true heroes. I've seen

Alanna's hand, I’ve felt the cold chill of her angels. I spent a day collapsed in the mud. Three arrows in my back, one in my leg.” His voice grew louder, which rillied the chants of his peers again. “You know nothing of sacrifice. You are just another leashed dog for the king!”

“Take that back!” shouted the ARO private. He struck down the prisoner once more. The young man sucked in his busted lip and ignored the bruise forming on his cheek. He

closed his eyes a sang an excerpt of an old Varisian dirge,

'Angels swirl around me, waiting for my last breath, Eyes soulless and black, wings white like ash, I fear many things, but today I just fear Death.'

“We all know that song, but only until that day I laid in the mud did I understand the true emotion behind it,” he finished.

The Watcher sneered at the poignant words and pulled back his fist to further punish the steely eyed prisoner.

“Enough, Private!” Wiccer barked as he came between the veteran and his tormentor. “They are kin, our brothers. Lost and neglected by the very country we all served. They don't deserve to be seen as enemies, but to be listened to.” He knelt down so he was eye level with the former scout. “What is your name?”

“Nechles Grey. I was a Private. Proud of my rank,” he responded.

“Please, tell me your story, private,” asked Wiccer. The Watchers around him jeered and shook their heads, but he ignored them.

“I was discharged because of my injuries. Like the lot of us, I lost my rank, respect, and my home. My leg was too weak to keep a job; I was on the streets a year after the war ended.” Nechles lowered his head and grew quieter, “Koda turned his back on those that won him the war...Understand this, Watcher: what choice does a broken man have but to fight back?”

Wiccer lingered hard on Nechles' words. He knew the same day was bound to arrive at his doorstep when he too, became too scarred or old to continue to fight. Perhaps his will would break before his body did, but he knew the day would come. He knew all too well that the life he led was dangerous. Wiccer turned away, but strengthened his resolve enough to respond, “None.”

“Then you understand why we have taken our stance.”

Wiccer rose to his feet, his face stern but solemn. “But you still have taken arms against the king I have sworn to protect and serve, and I must fight my enemies, foreign...”

The veteran lowered his head in gloom, knowing the final words to come. “...and domestic,” he whispered.

'We are the many,

And came home misused,

We may be the forgotten,

But we will not stay abused.'

The prisoners’ chant shook the floorboards of the tavern as the Watchers marched them down the streets. Wiccer took the bold words to heart, “May your words not fall on deaf ears.”