PyroScroll

In the morning, a crimson sun ascended over Oceris Palace, its rays casting an ethereal glow upon the land. The heavens were veiled in heavy scarlet clouds, lending an ominous aura to the palace that caught the eye of all who beheld it. The nocturnal tempest had left a layer of ashen snow upon the palace grounds, transforming the once enchanting scenery into a desolate and haunting spectacle.

Commander Zand had been dispatched to the Palace to extend an invitation to the General, bidding her presence at the main palace, where the King awaited her arrival for a crucial meeting. However, upon beholding the horrific scene before him, anger and frustration welled up inside Zand, boiling within his stomach. He seethed with fury at the thought of someone as wretched as the General of hell becoming a permanent member of the royal family, their tainted blood coursing through future generations. If it were within his power, he would have taken to the battlefield, fighting until his last breath, rather than accepting this abomination.

With no recourse but to proceed, Zand strode into the ruins of the palace, only to be intercepted by the soldiers of Nuria stationed at the gateway.

"Why do the troops of the Solyrian soldiers trespass upon these grounds? You have no place within these encampments," a guard bellowed in a deep voice, clutching his axe firmly in his grasp.

Zand clenched his teeth, suppressing his disdain, before responding, "I must meet with the General, or rather, the Princess. I bear a message from the King."

The guard glared at him with hostility, then turned on his heel, gesturing for another guard at the rear to relay the message. He then faced Zand once more.

"Once the General grants permission, you may proceed inside," he stated curtly. It took the guard some time to return with news.

"The General awaits," he added, leading Zand through the campsite. Although Zand was suitably attired against the frigid weather, the moment he stepped within the boundaries of the encampment, his body warmed considerably, to the point where he felt overdressed. Adjusting his collar with a single finger, he took a deep breath as he was escorted towards a grand tent amidst the others.

The two guards guarding its entrance parted the heavy curtains, revealing a chamber bathed in soft light. It exuded simplicity rather than extravagance. At the centre stood a hearth, radiating warmth throughout the room. To the left, a partition separated the living area from a sleeping space adorned with the pelt of a majestic creature. Zand couldn't help but furrow his brow at the sight.

Just as he was surveying his surroundings further, the curtains of another compartment shifted open, and Noori came into view. Her fiery red tresses cascaded down her back, while a golden circlet graced her forehead. She wore a loose, flowing gown fashioned from thick, slate-colored velvet, intricately embellished with delicate threads of gold and adorned with modest jewels that resembled constellations sewn into her attire. A sturdy, brown leather belt, adorned with metallic buckles, encircled her waist. Her sleeves, reaching her fingertips, were lined with a golden rim, resembling a ring.

For a moment, she appeared as a typical noblewoman, unlike the person Zand had encountered in the throes of war. Even her presence bore no threat.

"Commander Zand of the esteemed Western Hound Battalion, I bid you a most distinguished welcome," Princess Noori spoke with a low-pitched and sickly tone, characteristic of her noble bearing. She recognized him instantly, causing a flicker of surprise to briefly dance across Zand's countenance, though he swiftly concealed it.

"Princess," Zand responded, his voice filled with deference.

"Please, have a seat. My attendants shall prepare a sumptuous feast in your honor," she graciously offered, exuding the utmost respect in her words.

"No need for such extravagance, Princess. I am here solely as a messenger from the King. His Majesty urgently requests your presence at the palace forthwith," Zand conveyed with urgency.

Noori paused for a fleeting moment, her gaze fixed upon Zand, before nodding gracefully. "I have duly received the message and shall comply with the King's summons," she replied softly, her tone betraying a sense of serenity.

Zand had expected a scene filled with drama, yet the cordial treatment he received left him deeply unsettled. After delivering the message, he took his leave, while Noori remained in the tent for a moment longer. With a quickened pace, she ventured towards a nearby tent, a few yards away from her own. The guards stationed at its entrance were taken aback, for the General's unexpected arrival at a commander's tent, rather than the other way around, was a remarkable occurrence. They pressed their hands to their chests, their voices harmonizing in a unified greeting. "General!" they exclaimed, to which Noori nodded in affirmation. Pushing aside the thick, red curtain, she entered

 the tent abruptly, catching its occupant off guard. The man, Commander Bishop, was seated upon a rudimentary wooden stool, blood trickling down his bare chest. Startled by Noori's sudden entrance, he hastily stood up, hastily dropping the cloth he had been using to tend his wounds, and hastily grabbed the nearest brown fabric to shield his modesty. Noori's expression remained unchanged as her gaze remained fixed upon his face.

"General! What brings you here? You should have summoned me to your presence," Commander Bishop uttered, his voice tinged with surprise.

"Did you dispatch the letter to the Emperor?" Noori inquired hastily, a note of urgency lacing her words.

"Yes, General, I have done so," Commander Bishop responded, his voice filled with a mixture of trepidation and loyalty.

Noori took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as a tide of dismay washed over her. "Is there a problem?" Commander Bishop asked, concern etching his features.

Noori shook her head with a tinge of despair. "The King of Solyria seeks an audience. He demands answers for the events that have transpired here. Yet, how am I to reply to him when I myself remain ignorant of the unfolding circumstances?"

As the curtains were once again parted, a man entered the tent. Clad in his gleaming leather armor, a bow slung across his back, and soft snow resting on his hair, he dropped to his knees the moment his eyes caught sight of Noori's fiery red tresses. "General! Forgive my intrusion, for I was unaware of your presence," he swiftly apologised, his voice tinged with a mix of deference and panic.

Noori's clenched fist relaxed, and she gestured for the man to rise. "There is no need for such formalities. State your business," she commanded, her voice carrying an air of authority.

"General, a pyrotechnic scroll has materialised atop the frozen lake. I believe it to be the Emperor's reply," the man exclaimed, beads of sweat

Noori's face grew pale, and she took a deep breath to compose herself. "Are you sure about this?" she asked, her voice slightly stiff.

Ember nodded affirmatively before speaking. "The Pyromage has thoroughly examined it, and it's undoubtedly a Pyrotechnic Scroll."

"A Pyrotechnic scroll," Noori repeated, her voice betraying a mix of concern and acceptance. After a moment's pause, she nodded resolutely. "Alright then. I'll go. Meanwhile, you stay here and get everything ready for our departure to the main palace. I'll personally deliver the message, and as soon as it's done, we'll march out immediately," Noori stated, her determination evident as she turned and walked away.