Ch.49

From the way he dressed, cleanly and neatly, to the way he spoke, with a higher pronunciation. Even his demeanor, he would practice to be comparable to his lord's, holding his head high with a sharp look in his eyes as he made his way through the streets of Capricene's holy district, where all who walked around were of noble heritage, considerable wealth, high status, or of the clergy. Among them, dressed as he was, Chester fit right in, passing every man and woman without a well being drawn. He was a ghost among them, able to move freely as he wanted with his gleeful grin.

To the prison yard he went, a secluded and well guarded area among the many church's buildings, a desolate place where the cells were built mostly underground. Of course, he did not just walk into the prison where he would be seen and apprehended, instead entering into a nearby building where knitted clothes were sold. He met with the shop's owner, a young, nervous man who guided him to the basement. Sloppily, he stepped down the stairs, rubbing his knuckles in overlapping repetition as Chester followed steadily behind, holding the oil lantern. "Mister Brendolf... As requested, I cleared out the basement and opened up the wall. The tunnel doesn't go too far, but it should connect to some old tunnels that connect to the prison."

Chester raised up the lantern in revealing a broken down brick wall and a tunnel beyond. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out the coin to pay the man, dropping it into his held out hands that were eager to catch the weight of a few pounds. "For your services."

"Oh thank you, sir! Thank you!"

Chester walked with a cane in his right hand, holding the lantern in his left. The tapping sound echoed ahead and behind him with each placement of his cane, dying out ahead as he approached a dead end.

His cane seemed ordinary, a bit of an expensive looking cane if anything, but otherwise ordinary, made of polished wood. Yet, it was hand crafted by his lord, enchanted with an embedded core of shfi'nyl that allowed him to use its natural abilities, without requiring any magical ability whatsoever. Merely tapping the wall that blocked his path opened a doorway to the other side, at which he passed through and retracted the shfi'nyl back to his cane.

The prisoners were served slop, a porridge as slick as mud after a pouring rain, with very little in terms of apparent difference. The prison guards could not care less though, as they were members of the clergy who served as soldiers of the church, tasked with watching over the criminals who worshipped otherwise, striking contempt among them that they showed at a moments thought. As one of the prisoners was being served his portion of slop, the guard, plain as day, spat in his food. A moment's exchange of looks. The guard's scoffing prompted the prisoner to react by tossing his tray upwards and cursing the guard. "Your mother's a fuckin mongrel!!"

A sour expression.

The man was beaten by clenched fists until he was bloody and bruised. No one stopped the guard, neither prisoners or other guards, who all watched idly.

The prisoners were taken, others dragged, back to the prison quarters where they were left to rot for the rest of the day. No guards, no supervision, not even a ray of sunlight. No guard would come even if a fight were to break out and the prisoners beat each other to death with hollered screams. Broken men they were, no purpose or drive; they sat idly for their deaths, the ever dimmest flicker of hope that they would escape, overshadowed by the expectation of their captors never letting them see the light of day again. It was the perfect environment for recruiting.

No one noticed him in the dark, even as he stood among them; a figure in the dark. He exhaled, lifting up his cane and lightly bringing it down upon the ground with a tap. Only then, had his presence become known. The prisoners looked to him, vaguely able to make out his apparel from the light coming from the other side of the cell doors.

Chester stood among dozens of criminals, both petty and vicious, but here, they were equal.

"Good lads. My name, is Chester Brendolf, steward to my lord, Lord Fall. However, you may know him as Mister Henry Codux. I come with a message, an offer, to you who are cast out because of your refusal to kneel before a false religion. You are hereby offered purpose. A reason to live, a reason to fight. You are offered salvation that is real, that you yourself, shall take with your own two hands."

"A preacher...?" One of the prisoners growled.

"My lord is a god himself. He simply offers you reason, but if that is not good enough, he also offers something simpler. A drink. Who among you has ever had Innah'vadahn wine?"

At the mention of a drink, the prisoners circled around to partake in the offer of wine from a single bottle. The taste was sweet, the wine rich and flavorful, with a hint of sourness that only added to the allure of its sip. Laughter was soon to fill the room and echo down the halls, and yet, despite them being so loud, no guard came, as only the other prison cells heard their gleeful cries.

"Tell us, steward! Tell us of this, oh so gracious lord, who would offer us low lives such delicious wine."

Chester grinned happily, zealously preaching to the prisoners. "Allow me to tell you a story of my lord, and the home land of Innah'vadah."

A carriage pulled by two Telvanian steeds carried the Duke of Audder, Aleksandr Sliv'ek, as well as his mother, younger sister, and the serving Fallenic Priestess.

The sights of the blooming city that was still under construction was nothing like Tel'vane's villages and castles. The crystal clear windows, the use of predominately white paint, perfectly cut stone bricks and polished wood, no such things were found anywhere else. It was a sight that brought about awe in the eyes of the Telvanians.

Their carriage would make its way through the city, passing by the remnants of the old palace that stuck out like a crow in a hayfield.

"My lord..." The Fallenic Priestess, shocked and at a loss for words, gasped in gathering the attention of the other passengers. "The palace!" She cried, her hands clasped in her lap in a tight clutch.

("What is it?") The young Duke asked.

("Forgive me... It is just, that is where Lord Fall's home was located last I was here in Innah'vadah. To see scorched earth and workers digging out its catacombs... It is a surprise to say the least.")

Their carriage brought them before the precipice of the Temple of Fall, before its grand doorway of shfi'nyl coated metal. The door was always open, a sign that the temple welcomed every individual at all times. Through its doorway, the great hall that consisted of a a staircase with a width to fit a marching platoon, spiraling to the top of the mountain like the trunk of a tree, freckled with branches paths. The steps consisted of over a ten thousand leading to the very top of the temple, the lord's throne room, thus an easier way to reach the peak was constructed. They boarded an elevator that brought them to the throne room where they were immediately summoned, finding themselves at the end of their journey as they came before his lordship upon the seat of his throne.

Still plagued by sickness, he did not show his face, shielding the outside world and his people from his ill body by entrapping himself in his own armor. His apparel was a surprise to his vassal who shuddered at the sight of him.

("Come, Aleksandr Sliv'ek. Stand before me as he does.") Erik's voice rang out. Aleksandr approached closer while his mother and sister remained standing idly at the center of the room. He made his way to the only other person standing center to the room, not counting the knights who stood sidelined to the left and right of the room. He looked up to the man next to him, a dark elf who seemed young, with a short hair cut and holding a book in his arms. ("Aleksandr Sliv'ek. You have been called here to join in the coming battle with heathens. You will be my, squire, as it is called. One who learns under a warrior to soon be a warrior themself.")

Aleksandr's eyes widened in realization. ("To... To battle?") He spoke, only to repeat what he'd said but with a louder tone as though to reach the top of the throne with his voice. ("I am to go to war?!")

("You are. It will be a place at which you will be born again. A knight. In your tongue, a Huntsman. Will you refuse?")

("No!!")

"I will hope that your training with my knights whom I had assigned to you has bore results. Surely, you can understand me, and so I forbid you from speaking Telvanian from this moment forth until you return to Audder. Here, you will speak Common, no matter how little you have learned. Do you understand?"

It was clear that many words had gone over the young man's head, but his response made clear he understood the gist of it. "I will speak, Common, my, lord. My skill in battle, will, keep me, alive."

"Deklin Nushe." Erik had called the name of the elf, who straightened his back in responding.

"Yes! My lord!"

"I have been told your skill in speech, calligraphy, and literature, are more than exceptional. That you are talented and passionate. It is for these reasons that I am offering you the position of scribe, within my temple. If you accept, you will be appointed the position of master scribe, and granted the title of Fallenic Scribe. It will be the first of the new order I am creating with the temple, tasked with maintaining and continuing the history and literature that is held by the temple. You, especially, will be given a unique task; to record the coming events as they happen in the wars to come. Do thou accept?"

Excitement brimmed from the young elf like steam from a geyser. His grin, unable to be kept in check. "Yes! My lord!! I thank you gratefully for even the thought that you would consider me!! I accept wholeheartedly and can only hope to live up to your expectations!!"

"Good. Understand that war is not for the weakhearted. Your task will require you to record the dark and the light, to especially hold truth and deceit, and to be written perfectly, as your records will be told in story to all to bolster the reputation of Innah'vadah to the masses. Of course, my deeds that will unfold will be godly, so do attempt your best to write them as detail may allow."

To the docks, far east of the city, Erik marched with the dock workers and ship builders, his men who oversaw the construction and maintenance of the docks and its many harbored vessels. While the docks stretching along the coastline to the west meant for fishing and trade, the west was for military ships. Already, Erik had stretched his manpower to work and develop the many corners of his kingdom. They needed to learn the craft, develop their skills, and then 

They led him down a long, stone harbor, the very largest to decorate the shores of Innah'vadah, to a ship that sat afloat in the water like a mountain in a lake. The full glory of the ship was clouded by the men finishing up the ship; loading it with cargo, its many lined cannons with ammunition, and even painting its black in color side with a strip of blue design that ran all along its hull.

"My lord, your ship has been combed over repeatedly by every single Innah'vadahn carpenter. We have ensured that there are no issues, and as you can see, the ship holds well in the water. Truly, a marvel of master craftsmanship and metalwork. A vessel, like no other."

"Yes, my lord! And we have ensured its perfection. Every crack has been sealed properly and we have tested its steadiness and tilt over the coarse of several days. It aligns straight.

"As of the current moment, we await only the finishing touches, such as polishing and painting. Of course, your great ship also awaits a name, my lord."

"A name..." His voice seeped from out of his helmet. "Yes. I give the name, Hurdune, The War Strider."

"Our lord's vessel has a name!!" Shouted his subordinate, walking away from the ears of his lord, back down the way they'd come. "Shout the news through the streets! Send word to the sculpture! Hurdune!! Its name is to be engraved and its tablet mounted on his great ship!!"

"The ship is to embark tomorrow, at the crack of dawn." And that, it did, early the very next morning, before the sun had even risen, the people rose to see the ship's depart. Children gathered around to see the glorious event, the first sail of the ship that would become legendary in name, Hurdune, a war vessel of steel and weaponry.

"Raise the sails!!"

Its many sails, black with lines of white were raised, the symbol of Innah'vadah, its king, and faith, embroidered on each, were raised one after another. Soldiers that would be taking part in the coming battles saw their families off at the port before boarding. They were given a heroes farewell by their families, expected to come back alive and with stories of their accomplishments.

Though unable to touch their skin through his armor, Erik said his farewells to his tearless wives who'd bid him a safe journey. They felt as though they had no reason to worry for him, yet they did nonetheless.

The ship's departure would soon follow, and the weeks long journey would begin. A steady pace was held. Hurdune did not rely solely on the wind to push its sails, but also the mechanical propelling beneath the waves. Magic powered the ship, the mana contained within mana crystals that acted like batteries. They were cut perfectly into the shape of cylinders, powerful and useful in just about all areas. Though their downside was their life expectancy, hundreds were brought on board, kept in crates in the storage room.

Hurdune was a massive vessel capable of withstanding heavy blows with its metal exterior. It had hundreds of rooms, a length from each end of the vessel being comparable to that of a town. Over a thousand soldiers were on board.

In his quarters, he ate alone. Only there was he able to take off his helmet to dine on the same rations his men were given; the simple food of war, smoked fished and dried mutton that were preserved in salt, cheese, and porridge, that was prepared in the ship's kitchen in eleven large pots. The entirety of the ship's crew ate their fill of one meal a day, and he was no different.

In the time of a storm, the sails were withdrawn and those on board stayed put within the confines of the ship. No small wind would be able to knock over Hurdune, and no hurricane would be able to defeat it. It was a marvel of the century, a vessel beyond its time. Slight were the tremors that vibrated throughout the ship. Violet was the wind and rain outside, yet peacefully could he read within the confines of his own cabin. Almost calming, it was. The sound of the storm through the thick walls of the Hurdune. This was how he occupied his mind in his travels when he was not resting or eating. He would read, and fast he would. Pages of literature were scanned like glances across a forest, thus he brought along a wide selection of novels to decorate the shelves of his wall. At other moments, he would look to his pocket watch splayed on the table to his knuckle, his eye, glancing to the portraits of his wives he kept framed. It was nearing, the calm fading into the distance. War. The time of death and shedding of blood.

Already, the thieves and criminals, the gangs in Capricene and the city's guards were dropping to the ground as corpses. The holy order that had been called had arrived, and they were storming the city at that very moment. The battle to seize control over Capricene was taking place, and it was the church that was winning, confiscating weapons and contraband, imprisoning or murdering the last of the Highlandic rebels, but Hurdune was approaching. The soldiers of Innah'vadah prepared in wiping their blades and placing their armor.

With the city up in flames, and smoke painting the sky, Hurdune was nothing but a shadow in the distance. Yet, it's arrival shook the waters and stone. The horns of war cried out, like that of a monster, roaring in the distance. It blared. It covered ears and vibrated bones, and only then, did the onlookers turn their heads to the sea in the distance; only then, did Erik rise from his seat. He slapped shut his leatherbound book, placing it down on the table.

From another, he approached and grabbed at his resting helm, raising it atop his head in placing it upon himself, his cloak, falling down his shoulders and nape as he did.

In the streets of Capricene, paladins upon horseback reined back their powerful steeds. They looked down from the walls of the city's higher steeps, out to the ocean where they saw the warship, Hurdune, in all of its terror.

Shoulder to shoulder with his men, Erik made his way through, another faceless mask in the army of black. They aligned themselves upon the observation deck, weapons sheathed, backs straight, forming a wall in waiting for their lord, these four-hundred Fallenic Knights.

As he emerged from the doorway, the last of his army falling into ranks in his wake, he dead centered himself.

"At the ready, men." His words carried through the salty air, prompting his men to unsheathe their blades with the hiss of scraping metal. "Know that it is not the blood of our enemies that will coat your blades this morning, but rather, that of the lost. They are misguided, ignorant to the truth. Have mercy... ...Against the foolish."