We left early the next morning, the students having a good and happy time, leaving Eternal Lights burning around for our hosts to light up the nights with, and similar small things that were useful. A Permanent Phantom Servant for the owner of the hostel was an easy gift to part with on the sly, for instance.
My people had rapidly gotten back to me on who we were looking for in Zanzyr among the raiding magicians, but one group of them was definitely not from Zanzyr.
It was the Court Mage of the Black Wolf Barony for certain, and whatever hapless fools had been suckered into becoming his disposable apprentices. The hyn related that he’d gone through at least five in the last two years, most of them dying violently on dastardly missions no one was inclined to let them survive.
This Hurgle appeared to be greedy, intelligent, paranoid, opportunistic, and cowardly, which meant he’d survived a long time serving a Marquis who was definitely of the ranting egotistical bastard type of lord himself. Why some people thought bloodline was an excuse to behave however they wished was quite beyond me, but that fool actually recruited nifloids into his forces and used them to harass neighboring nobles’ lands and peoples.
I literally did not care that he was a cousin to the Duke of the whole small nation that Sir Horn came from. The Archduchy of Warsherz was quite young and new to be even calling itself a nation, literally being purchased from casually conquered protectorate status from the Empire of Siricil. Duke Warsherz had in essence traded his prosperous family lands for the chance to move out from under the direct aegis of the Empire, ‘buying’ the right to rule the conquered lands as his own without oversight from Siricil.
It was a political deal. The cash-strapped new Emperor plundered the bartered lands to pay off his debts and raise a new army to defend Siricil, and the Duke played at still being a vassal state of Siricil instead of properly calling himself the king of his own nation. Who he thought would invade him in such instances, except other nobles of Siricil, was kind of a strange question, as Federyn certainly wasn’t the type, the nomads of Zakarum weren’t going to be coming through either Siricil or Federyn to get to him, and the hyn certainly weren’t going to invade, nor the naval powers of Ojutalo or Chimaro.
His main problem was internal dissent from a conquered population and a lot of nifloids in the untamed forests and mountains around his lands, who definitely kept his military forces busy all the time… and his cousin contributing to the problems only made it worse.
We covered over a hundred miles of roads and trails in the Shires, stopping only for short times at Undar’s Patib and Rein, then across the River Gurgle into Eastburrow, and thence the trade road over the border to the main border crossing of Tribanks Keep, where the Vermuth and the Sage Rivers met.
I had been in Warsherz before, of course, returning the bones of a brave young man killed by Conflagros, but that was in the central area of the Barony of Franklin, not the Black Wolf Barony or the more secure central area around the Archduke’s Capital of Glazieraum.
The architecture struck me as old European, with elements of Swiss, Italian, Hungarian, and Greek styles to it, although building far more with wood than with stone. Unsurprisingly, the incoming Siricilans comprised some of the more high-minded adventurous sorts, and many more venal opportunists seeking the chance to establish a footing in a new land where their status was higher than that of the natives, stories of which Izzimaior was endlessly full of.
The native people, the Hellenar, were part of an ancient tribe with a long and glorious history that had fallen into mediocrity and obscurity in present times, but which one of my Sims had detailed in intricate detail over the past four thousand years, starting with the Ascension of their three Great Heroes to Immortal status, the rise of their own Eonic Empire, its collapse and splitting, immigration, and falling into obscurity over time, only kept alive in the present day by diehard adherents of the Church of Hellenar. This Church retained the history of the people and their Immortals zealously, and the incoming Church of Warsherz, adapted from one of the ever-factious faiths of Siricil, had not been able to gain many converts among the natives as a result.
That both of the churches worshiped some of the same Immortals under different names was a given, but there was also the fact that the ancient empire of the Hellenar had been founded by tribes that had once subjugated the ancestral tribes of the Siricilans! Thus the founding Immortals of Siricil, particularly their war goddess Tenya, still nursed ancient grudges against them and their Immortals, and likely wouldn’t be satisfied until the last remains of their faiths were dust on the wind.
As Immortals weren’t bound to their peoples or faiths, this would hamper the Hellenar Immortals but not kill them off, and they would lose power in the world… which they were already doing. It had been quite obvious that there was a faction in the Church of Warsherz that was dedicated to open conflict with the Church of Hellenar, and so there was burgeoning religious conflict in what was basically a frontier region and partial colony of Siricil, even if only in name.
Tenya was a violent and chaotic Immortal, a true Patron of war and conquest, who loved it, the destruction, chaos, and conflict it brought to the world, and the rapid rise in power and evolution of society it forced, as well as the rapid fall of the weak. She had basically fought Her way up from life as a barbarian warlord three thousand years ago, long after the fall of the Empire of Iberon, and Her readiness to go to war and win by any means necessary was engraved into the heart of true Siricilans.
Following that woman and later Immortal’s career and the havoc She adored causing took up a lot of books in the Library of the Black Rose devoted to her. She was probably the single largest sponsor of Chaotic knightly orders in the world, drawing eager recruits for conquest and glory from the multitudes of Siricil to go out and conquer. Currently, Her major tool seemed to be the Teuthonic Order, which was carving into the Frokki Freeholds up north and turning them into vassal dominions to their Order.
I had an eye on them because of Tenya, and having my own plans for the wilds of Eislas, which they were most certainly going to interfere with. My Northmen lads also came from that area, and were not happy to find out what was going on there among their kinfolk. Between invading conquering knights, raiding jarls of Fjord Isle Kingdoms (Nortfjord, Ustfjord, and Sutterfjord, as it were), the Tukhman horsemen always happy to ravage and invade, and a substantial troll, ogre, giant, and other nifloid population, the Frokki were definitely not having a good time of things.
The Teuthons were not going to have a good time with some very, very tough One-A-Day practitioners who had also advanced their Weapon Mastery a long, long ways up in a genocidal war campaign, and were fully ready to put their Axes to use against conquest-happy Faran on horseback.
‘Faran’, or ‘Warriors of Chaos’, was the generic name for all the various Gray templars of one sort or another. Many of them were simply labeled ‘Reavers’, since basically all they did is wander around looking for fights to get into, and were belligerent, brutal, and bullies at heart, respecting only strength. They weren’t necessarily ‘Reapers’, as that was basically reserved for Anti-Paladins of the Black, as Gray wouldn’t necessarily kill you or enslave you if you knuckled under and obeyed. The knights of Teuthon were definitely lances looking for something to stick, and they’d found it in the Frokki, overcoming and/or recruiting the defenders with great zeal and fervor. The Frokki were Northmen and easily suckered into veneration and appreciation for a hard martial mindset of beating stuff up, taking their belongings, and proving you were better than the rest of the world and calling it ‘glory’ while you did so.
However, they were proper knights, with plate armor, shields, horses, lances, and an array of proper equipment, backed by lots of determined Clerics who rode with them. The Frokki tended to be infantry with round shields, chain mail, and an array of spears, axes, or swords, without great line discipline, and prone to fall for challenges and get their heads handed to them when they answered them from their better-equipped opponents.
It had happened enough times that the Frokki were caving to the superior battle prowess of the Teuthons, which was exactly the plan for recruiting them and growing the faith of Tenya among them.
Hammer Ogvier was particularly incensed at Tenya daring to challenge the role of Donner as defender and champion of the Northmen, and was already delivering the lightning of Donner to them and showing his appreciation of their choice of targets. He and the Skifnersons had gathered quite a few Frokki to themselves already, and were in the process of updating and upgrading their gear and training.
With them were a fair number of elite guardsmen of Darkmoor, who averaged Sixes, an incredibly elite force of fighting men by any empire’s standards. The Skifnersons had been impressed by the kingdom that King Antius ran, the spirit and toughness of its people, and their willingness to work together and fight to defend their homes.
The Frokki, in turn, were inspired by the return of native sons, and were taking heart against the Teuthons.
Having Sim Five assigned to help them out with fortifications was really helping. Mounted knights didn’t mean crap against walls, after all, and in a remarkably short period of time, the villages and towns of the Freeholds had nicely defiant walls of their own, proper roads connecting them, and the Skifnersons were browbeating the petty jarls and barons of the places into unifying and becoming something greater than before.
If they didn’t want to play, the walls could be taken down, the combined patrols could leave them be, and, it was rapidly proven, they became the preferred targets of opportunity for forces of Teuthonic knights out for some exercise and light land appropriation, with a little conversion-at-swordpoint mixed in for emphasis.
All of that was important stuff cycling through my head, because we were stopped outside of Threebanks by a rather large patrol of heavily armored templars being led by a Cleric of the Siricilan Church… but the crossed shortswords against a lance was a symbol of the ‘Mother of War’, and was worn pretty prominently by these fellows, who were definitely spoiling for a fight.
This was a remarkably strong religious force for what was, in the end, a station of troops to watch over the salt mines north of the keep and the prisoners who labored within them. The hyn had also been nice enough to tell us that slavers were active in the area and often raided into the Shires for victims.
And being godless, Cleric-killing wizards from the blasphemous nation of Zanzyr, it was pretty clear to see where this was heading.
“Godless heathen heretics!” the youngish leader of the group of mounted templars shouted at us, waving his lance. The templars bristled behind the fellow, obviously chosen more for zealotry and brawn than brains, their eyes fixated on us with great purpose and readiness to die for their beliefs. “In the name of all that is right and just-”
And yet, the fires that had ignited on every Staff behind me gave them all pause, as did the array of bows and crossbows pointed their way.