Year 215. Road to Gortinda - Khirn

Gíla Senghu

"'The sky was born a burnished copper. The sun, known as Adad-ulam, was young and vibrant, and powerful enough to allow no signs of darkness to exist during the morning hours. Waves of red-gold washed over the emerald-green landscape, bathing what settlements there were at that age in its light as the denizens of this world awoke and began their days. Lumde Suar, a young and fast-rising priestess in her village, was the first to awaken in her home, rushing down the old wooden stairs as swiftly as she could. Her excitement was palpable, barely contained, for it was going to be a good day, a great day. For her, at the very least, and not for the others in the village. She understood this and understood why, for today was the day that she would summon the Desecrator and go about her life's plan. She would be the one to-

'Lumde!' her mother suddenly cried out as her daughter began heating up the stove fire for slabs of fresh Goldhorn. 'Why are you always so loud in the morning?'

The young priestess chuckled and tossed the thick red meat onto the pan resting over the increasingly large orange flames, 'Oh please, I wasn't that loud.' Fragrant spices and cooking wine were added as well, as the meat seared and crackled against the heat.

Her mother marched into the kitchen, hands on her hips and a sour expression on her wrinkled face, 'The stairs are old, and you could get hurt. Your father has to replace them, so no more running. Okay?...Okay?'

Lumde grunted and added more spices to the smoking pan, her eyes fixated on the browning meat, 'Yes, yes, okay, mother.'

'Good. I need you to pick up more Goldhorn today,' her mother ordered, taking a seat at the dining room table with a heavy sigh. 'We're almost out, and I don't want your father to whine and complain about his lack of steak.'

Lumde did not respond to the order and silently stabbed the meat in the pan with her stainless steel fork to transfer it to her smooth wooden plate. The plate was set onto the table with a slight clunk, but the food upon it went uneaten for a good half-hour before being carved and pierced by its cooker's utensils. Goldhorn meat was naturally salty and tough, although the copious wine and spices had given it a sweeter taste and chewier texture for breakfast.

As she chewed each slice and chunk, Lumde thought on both the plethora of dishes that used Goldhorn (stews, salads, soups, chowders, dinners, breakfasts, desserts) and the journey she had to set off on within the hour. Finding the Desecrator...I must be mad. Without a word, Lumde finished her breakfast, an endeavor in itself, waited for her mother to return upstairs to wake her father, and then quickly retrieved her packed traveling bag and rushed out the house with speed, her destination set in the far west, in the woods that had been cordoned off for decades, in the home of the Desecrator."

Gíla Senghu smiled and looked up from her book to the others stowed away in the cart destined for Gortinda. Three had been aligned in her goals, set to serve as reinforcements to various important pieces within the force at the village. A cook, a smith, and a healer of increasing age, respectively. Once temperate of her presence, they now stared at her with mixed-colored eyes, each set strained and squinted as they scrutinized the inhuman in an effort to understand why she felt so inclined to read them a tale from her book.

"Why did she seek one so horrible as be known as 'the Desecrator?'" the healer asked. "That seems like a monikor intended to keep one away from interacting with such a being."

Gíla considered their appearance as much as she did their question, if only because they should not have been in any position to have asked her this. They were a stout human of advanced years, clearly aged enough and adorned with enough baubles to be a respected member of their profession. Why they were stowed away on a cart - run by the patriarch of a family of four farmers, no less - was beyond her understanding. She could understand herself. As an inhuman, the less auspicious mode of travel, the less likely people would truly see her.

"Well, change, more or less," she answered after noting their growing discomfort with her examination. "She was young, dissatisfied with her life and the state of affairs in her homeland. She felt it was stagnant."

"So she chose to go with someone named the Desecrator?" the cook asked. Their accent was thickly rural, as was their appearance, taking up almost two persons' amount of space in the cart. Why were they here too?

"She wanted to achieve something great, and the Desecrator - name aside - provided the best opportunity for her to achieve it," she explained. "She came close to doing this, but later chapters show that she was in love with the man, or rather fell in love with him over time. This love ultimately leads to her downfall and the failure of her plan. The tale is just a warning for the children of my people. 'Do not let your love or your hate interfere with your goals to achieve great things.' Lumde could have achieved her goals, but her love for the Desecrator cast her asunder."

"It is cruel to disregard your own love in the pursuit of greatness," the healer said.

Gíla nodded. "It is to some and is not commonly followed these days as a result."

"Similar, in spirit, to Iphito," the smith said in a deep, sonorous voice with a slight syllibant extension. They were a broad and muscled human, middle-aged and black-haired. A greatsword - likely his most recent work - leaned between their legs and rested at an angle up against their shoulder. They clutched the hilt tightly as they recounted the tale of Iphito. "He started young, an apprentice to a greater smith known as Agesil during the time of the Golden Lords, some decades before Acominatus. They crafted some of the greatest, most dazzling weapons and armor you would ever see in your time, bear."

"You have read of Acominatus?" Gíla asked, astonished that a smith knew of the legend. Very few humans she had encountered in her journey thus far had heard of them, let alone the Golden Lords of Khirn's ancient past.

"I have," they grinned with chipped teeth. "This boy and his master inspired many a craftsman who went on to serve that dastardly devil. Eventually, Agesil died in his sleep, and young Iphito took over the shop, and the passion he had for it was increased tenfold. His goal was merged with his love for his craft. You see, Agesil talked endlessly about creating the perfect weapon. Unbreakable. Undullable. Unbendable. So, when he died, Iphito wanted to create the perfect weapon as well and cast aside all other things in life until he accomplished it. Familky, merriment, travel, exploration, and even food and water all became second to this perfect weapon. When he did accomplish it, he was left alone in his smithy with no one to show it to. No one to care for it. No one to care for him after the long hours over the forge and the diagrams. He died holding that sword in his bed, his goal and his love leading to his lonely demise."

"How do you know this story?" the healer asked, their intrigued voice betraying the attempted stoicism.

"I read," the smith said with another grin. "I read a lot. My father made sure of that. He had this book that told of Iphito, and I related to him. I am like him in some ways, though I was sure not to lose my love for family. I suppose that makes me more like Agesil than Iphito. My son is..." his face dropped the grin into a scowl. "Was my Iphito."

"You lost your son?" the cook asked hesitantly.

"Yes, I did. I did," the smith said in a low drawl. The healer made a religious sign at the mention of the boy's passing and whispered words of comfort to the smith, who responded with nods of gratitude.

"What is your name?" Gíla asked them.

They looked at her and tried to force the grin back. "Goscelin Evenios. Call me Gos."

"I forgot that you met Gos that early," Alden said, surprised.

"I met you too not long after, if you remember," Gíla smiled.

Alden scoffed and smirked. "Hell below, how can I forget the day you changed the scope of the war?"

Year 215. Gortinda - Khirn

Gíla Senghu

"Might I inquire as to why you have arrived in this place with a damnable inhuman in your cargo?" the leader of the inspection team roared at the driver as the cart finally pulled into Gortinda after months of travel.

"Orders of Duke Audax himself, milord. You should have gotten a raven," the driver said.

"We received no such thing," the inspector shook their head.

"Take it up with the bear, then," the driver grumbled, pointing back at the Drayheller, who began rummaging through her pack to retrieve the official missive written by the Duke's own hand. She pulled it out and handed it to the human. They snatched it from her paws without a hint of fear and began reading it, breaking the blue wax seal with dramatic emphasis.

The inspector, like the rest of the soldiers around them, was outfitted in scaled armor enameled white and chequered blue with an open-faced plumed helmet adorning their head. Gíla noted that they would probably put up a better fight than those she had encountered at the mountain and those she encountered in the city. They were brutally furious at her presence, face red from the mere sight of her. They scowled deeper and deeper as they read the letter before snorting and callously tossing it back at the woman in the cart. "Report to Lieutenant Alexias, inhuman," they growled.

"Where can I find Lieutenant Tamsos?" she asked.

The inspector did not answere. Instead, they turned on their heels so sharply that their sabatons dug grooves into the road of the village's main street. The cadre of thirteen followed them, letting their glares linger on the Drayheller for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"A pleasant bunch, aren't they?" Goscelin asked with a dark chortle.

"We cannot blame them for reacting so with the unexpected presence of an inhuman," the healer said, giving a brief apologetic look to the Drayheller whom they had, arguably, become somewhat cordial with over the past months of travel. "But at least there was no bloodshed. Of that, we can be grateful."

The cook lumbered out of the cart which breathed in relief at the lack of weight. "If you say so. I'm going to find my way to the kitchens now and report for duty. Needed an extra skilled hand on station for the amount of people that need feeding here. Good traveling with you lot - you too, bear. God bless you."

"And you," the healer said before extending their own departures for the campgrounds of their profession somewhere outside the village's walls.

"Odd, isn't it?" Goscelin muttered as the cook and healer dispersed from the group.

"What is?" Gíla asked.

Goscelin turned their head around their vicinity, as did Gíla in mimicry, to see what they were seeing. The village, like every other Aslofidorian settlement, was gaudy and developed to a scale that made no sense. Where their towns were the size of cities, the villages were the size of towns. Gortinda was no exception. It bothered her that they were adamant on using terms that should not have been applied. Towns, villages, cities. No. These places were metropolises. But she could not see what Gos was seeing. She knew this when they met eyes again, and their face was quizzical. "I've talked about it enough on the way here, but...we know why you're here. Fighting and tipping the scales. But us? One cook, one healer, one smith. Why the hell were we needed here?"

"To support those already here," Gíla said hesitantly as if afraid she was wrong.

"But why so little if so needed? And why were we stationed on your cart? Curious."

"I suppose," Gíla shrugged. "But if they needed you, then you are here. Right?"

"Truth enough. If they needed us, they have us," Goscelin shrugged as well. "Maybe I'm just being old. You should report to that Lieutenant Alexias before the old boys here boil their lids off."

Gíla snickered and bid farewell to the smith, hoisting her pack on her shoulder and departing toward the encampment in the field to the south of Gortinda. Thousands of tents, carts, crates, and the like dotted every yard of grass in this field, a force of no more than - by her quick count - five thousand present to occupy them. She held the missive in her paw openly should any of them approach her to question, scold, or assault her. By the Duke's own hand, she was permitted to be here. She had to remember that, not only in her heart to maintain confidence but to speak in such events. Burning glares followed her as she walked.

An hour passed before she found herself at what appeared to be the main tent of the encampment, surrounded and filled by knights in plate armor rather than scaled, though of similar enamaling. One in particular, a balding older figure, reminded her of a bulldog because of their face - the helmet held under their left arm also appeared to bear resemblance to this. He was the one to meet her first as she approached. They were cold in their looming as she walked up to them. Even though she had a good three inches of height over them, she felt small in their presence.

"Who in God Almighty's name are you?" they asked quite simply, their voice as crackling as a lava flow and as deep as an ocean trench.

"Gíla Senghu, here on the orders of Duke Audax. You should have received a raven," she replied earnestly. She extended the missive to the knight, who took it slowly in their free hand, flipped it open, and read much more carefully than the inspector from before. Several dozen others outside this grand tent had now noticed her and shared in the glaring from everyone else around.

They nodded after finishing and handed it back to the woman. "Right. The Drayheller. We received a note of this. You want to speak to Lieutenant Alexias for registration." They turned to the side and motioned for her to enter the tent.

She did, walking past and ignoring the hushed insults and hisses from the knights, clearly disgusted by her presence there. Inside, the tent was warm and inviting and velvet. Tables of maps and markers and inkwells and quills were strewn about in a haphazard fashion. Four were standing around them. Only one turned their gaze toward her at her entrance.

"Oh, this should be interesting," the golden-haired human said, rolling up the map in their hands and approaching the woman with cautious steps. "You're the Drayheller the Duke signed up for reasons only God knows?"

"I am," she said, extending the missive once more. "Are you Lieutenant Alexias?"

"No, that's the fellow with the braided hair over there." They took the missive and read it for only a second before nodding and handing it over to the second person who looked up from the table - a knight in silver armor with silver skin and white hair. "You're making things difficult being here, I hope you know that."

She frowned and looked down at her feet. "I understand, and I apologize that my presence might cause issues. But I am here to serve and help you win this war for the betterment of relations between your people and mine."

"Right. Relations," the knight said in a snarl. "Well, let's get you situated. Alexias, you got a new one."

A younger human with braided hair looked up from the table and sighed quite heavily at the sight before them. "The fucking bear. Great." Alexias beckoned her around the table and crossed their arms as she stood before them as meekly as she did the bulldog knight outside. "What's your name?"

"Gíla Senghu," she replied.

"You ever killed before?"

Her eyes widened at the blunt question. "I, erm...only in self-defense."

"How many?"

"Five? Bandits. My family did most of the fighting when necessary."

"Five bloody bandits. This is what Duke Audax thinks is going to turn the tide for us," Alexias bemoaned, rubbing their eyes in grief.

"I am trained in weapons. Hammers are my specialty."

Alexias opened their eyes and stuck out their bottom lip in thought. "Hammers...well, we do need a good shield-breaker since Panion fell." They turned to the apparent leader of the force here, a human so old that their face was leather and the lines so deep that they were black. Yet they were still tall and powerful.

"You're the one assigning special units, Alexias," the leader said as they traced a line from the north to Gortinda on the map. "I will leave it in your hands."

"Might I remind you that the Duke requested that the Drayheller not be put in any overtly dangerous roles?" the silver knight spoke up. "Per his agreement with her father."

"We don't have the luxury to adhere to such agreements," the golden-haired knight grunted. "That's the truth of it. The King's army moves toward us still, even with the magistrate's head on a spike. They think they can still beat us and will be here within the next two days. We need every advantage."

"At the cost of unprecedented diplomacy?" the silver knight gawked.

"Diplomacy that can continue when we win and won't if we lose," the golden-haired knight stated. "All you people with your damned diplomacy not realizing that it means nothing if the war you're trying to win is lost."

"Misandros is right," Alexias said with a curt nod. "We need the advantage. You will be our new shield-breaker, bear. You know what that means?"

"It means you're on the frontlines," the one named Misandros answered for her. She gulped and felt a chill run through her blood. "Are you okay with that?"

"I...whatever is necessary to ensure victory here," she said, swallowing her worries and the imagination of her father's wrath if he learned of the danger she was put in. This was her consequence for signing up for a human war. She knew, somewhere in her heart, that this was the likeliest of outcomes.

"Lady Senghu, you do not have to agree with that placement," the silver knight said in a hushed voice.

"If it means that the battle here, which seems inevitable, is victorious for Duke Audax, then so be it," she declared, straightening her back and standing taller. "I will fight on the frontlines as your new shield-breaker."

"So, what is Aqella like? Is it as big as Khirn? Bigger? What are the other inhumans like? Are they evil like the books say?" Young Alden rattled off as Gíla laid out her pack's contents on the small table assigned to her in this sector of the camp. She grinned at each subsequent one, which eventually numbered nearly one hundred asked without a breath - the young human answering their own questions with assumptions. Around them, the camp extended in a wide berth, almost as wide as an emerald leviathan coated in barnacles and crustaceans clinging onto its hide for dear life. In all of that vastness, the young human had found her by following the insults and rumors and deployed an armada of inquiries out of genuine curiosity. It was a wonderful change of pace.

"Aqella is a beautiful place, Young Alden. Filled with a menagerie of colors and places that would make your heart sing the happiest of songs," she said with a mirthful glaze over her eyes. "The sands rise in dunes as tall as mountains, rolling like ocean waves; trees spread out in vast canopies of green and orange, filled to the brim with animals that would make you shiver in delight and fear; cities line trade roads that network like spiderwebs, not as large and grand as yours, but glamorous and welcoming. It is a good place, Alden."

Alden smiled brightly at this and sat cross-legged in front of her as she stacked her books high on the table. Texts such as Ti Vram Chu, Mrafmu mrunt Piff Whichawj, and her favorite: Ti Ram knui Mrunt Vran Nayku. Each was a collection of veritable legends from her people, better than the last. Young Alden looked at them with enraptured eyes. She adored the human for this. Even when they could not read the language, they were still interested.

"What is this one about?" they asked, pointing to Ti Ram knui Mrunt Vran Nayku, an enormous leather-bound tome some one thousand pages in length. Her grin widened to bare her sharp fangs as she slowly pulled the book from the bottom of her stacks.

She lowered to her haunches to begin telling the young human of Lady Vran Nayku, the first woman of the Nujant Chhank. "She was a brave and powerful sorceress who used arcaeno, which in our tongue is known as 'riyu,' to create monuments of wonder and awe and terror to those who would come to oppose her like the dragons."

"Dragons?" Young Alden exclaimed. "Dragons are real?"

She nodded. "They are. Not many of them are left now outside of hibernation. Maybe four or five still fluttering through the air in some vain attempt to keep their empire awake. But sooner rather than later, they, too, will slumber in their caves or their trees for the next five hundred years or so. It is their nature. Sleep, awake, build an empire, rule, sleep."

"Are they evil like the fairy tales say?" Alden's eyes were wider than a nobleman's dinner plate.

Gíla laughed. "They are not evil, Alden. Few things in this world are evil. It is simply their nature, what they do. It is how they were created by the Gods that no longer walk this world. They were created to create, rule, and then sleep. It is the way of things. Vran Nayku sought to fight against that nature. If she could not fight it, she sought to change it."

Alden leaned forward. "What happened to her? Did she win?"

"She won in her own way," Gíla answered as she put the book back on the bottom of the stack. "The Nujant Chhank exist now because of her, and we are able to withstand the Dragons as we do, though...the most recent war against them was less than stellar. It was a massacre to some. We lost a lot of settlements to them. But my brother said that we survived it, and that is what matters."

"Do you think we will survive this?" Young Alden asked, their voice straining for a moment as the thought of the coming battle - not a day way - ran across their expression.

"I believe we will," Gíla said with a crooked grin. "I have never been in a battle before, but surely you have heard of my people's traits. Strong and durable. I will make sure we survive and find victory. How does that sound?"

"That sounds good," Young Alden beamed. "Where are you fighting?"

"I am the new shield-breaker. Hammer wielder."

Alden whistled and nodded with raised brows. "I pity whoever gets hit by you. Think you'll give 'em more than a bruise."

"We can only hope them seeing me in the first place will scare them off."