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Gemma
Gemma Reedly had never really thought of herself as a good person. She had a certain code of conduct, a set of very loose principles, but mostly she looked out for herself. If there was one thing she had learned growing up on the streets of Arksellum, it was that caring too much about other people was hazardous to your health. That was why, as soon as she entered the glowing white quartzite walls of Osenvale, she went straight to the information brokers. She figured information about the kid would be worth some coins, and she was correct. She liked the boy well enough, but money was money, and people were going to find out anyway. She told them everything she knew, under a truth compliance spell, of course. She told them she was pretty sure he was somehow the reincarnation of his grandfather, and she told them about the special artifact he had received from Mecre himself. Mostly, the brokers wanted to know about his combat prowess and who his companions were. She felt a pang of guilt telling everything she knew about Beldere, the Sulwoods, and the facet of Mecran soldiers, but she was not overly worried. Someone would have to be a lunatic to go after that crowd in a Mecran city.
“Why are people so interested in this?” she asked. The broker looked at her with surprise, and for a moment, she thought he would try to charge her for the information, which she could tell from his expression, everyone already knew. It wasn’t her fault she’d been living out in the middle of nowhere for the last two years.
“I suppose it’s common knowledge now,” he sighed. “It’s the bounty for his capture. Talk to that broker over there if you want to know more.” He pointed to a greasy-looking hybrid humanoid who looked like a creepy cross between a snake and a human. It was hairless, earless except for holes in the side of its head, with slimy grey skin, slitted eyes and nose, a mouth that was too wide, and arms too long. It stood a little over six feet tall, even though it was stooped. Some evil fecking Ssythe experiment, she guessed.
“Hey! What’s the bounty on Isubane?” she called out. The creature actually flinched at her words but answered in a calm, sibilant voice.
“Ten thousand Mecran gold marks.”
“Who’s paying?” she walked right up to him—at least she assumed it was a him; she didn’t see any obvious lady parts, and the voice was relatively deep. He made her wary for some reason, but she wasn’t going to let him know that.
“The consortium of labor procurement,” he tilted his head, “are you interested in participating?” She ignored the question.
“The slavers’ guild can post bounties like that in Mecre?” She was more than a little taken aback. The idea that the consortium could just pay to kidnap someone in a kingdom where slavery was forbidden was scary. And ten thousand gold? The kid might make for a great gladiator in the coliseum of her home city, but no one would pay that much for a fighter who likely wouldn’t last a month.
“The guild of brokers only asks that the coin amount is valid and available,” the emotionless thing replied. “We are only providing information. The legality of the capture or where and when the target is acquired is the prerogative of the hunter.” Gemma just shook her head and barked a laugh. She tried to calculate the number in her head of what she would need if she were stupid enough to try. It would be more than the bounty was worth. And in Osenvale of all places? There must be over ten thousand soldiers here, not to mention priests and druids and at least a dozen mercenary companies, all mostly loyal to Mecre. Even if they managed to grab him, they’d never get away without some serious veil manipulation.
“Well, best of luck to any idiot who tries a fool’s snatch like that. They’d best bring an army! Sounds like a good way to get planted early.” She was laughing aloud as she walked off. The broker’s unsettling smile followed her out the door.
Gareth
Gareth had heard about the bounty as well, but from a different source. His mercenary company was already aware of the reward and the officers confronted the wayward mercenary about it soon after his return. They weren’t interested in the job; there were too many risks, and the client was one they did not care for. They were also not desperate for coin, like many companies. However, they were curious about the boy and what made him so special. Gareth told the officers what he knew and some of what he suspected, but none of them were well-versed in the arcane or Mecre’s legends and lore, and so had little idea what it meant. They understood that Catwright might be the rebirth of some great hero who had died almost fifty years ago, and accepted it without question. They had certainly encountered stranger cases in their line of work.
“A bounty like that on a kid who’s barely left home,” Beornen of Lacrath shook his great head. The commander of the mercenary company known as Beornen’s Barbarians was a towering man, almost seven feet tall and over three hundred pounds of muscle. He resembled a member of one of the greater magical lithos races, something more than human, and he kept that veil of earth mana open almost constantly, which added to the impression. “What do you personally think of him, Gareth?”
Gareth was finding himself enjoying the attention despite himself. He idolized his commander, even though Beornen was a few years younger; he truly was the stuff of legends. “I like him. He is stubborn beyond all reason, socially awkward, but good-hearted. He is strong-willed and determined to improve in a way I’ve never seen.”
“Sounds like you and I are in agreement then, that we should stay far away from this slaver nonsense.” Beornen sighed, his face thoughtful. “There are shadows at play here we don’t understand, and I have a fear that our stance and your relationship with the boy might create a conflict with some of the other companies. I know you’ve thought about it. What would you have us do?” The commander was far more canny than most gave him credit for and had likely already seen several levels of complications beyond anything Gareth would have considered.
“Recruit him,” Gareth replied without hesitation. “He would be an asset to our company.”
“You mentioned earlier that he could fight; just how good is he?”
“Two years ago, I had skills I could teach him; I could surprise him, but it was still a tough match. Now, he could probably fight a half dozen men like me and emerge victorious.” The commander’s eyes widened at this; Gareth was no weakling. “I mentioned this before, and I’m not sure any of you truly believed me: he has mastered all five of the elemental forms. He does them every morning as a warm-up, and it is an impressive sight.”
Beornen just grunted. No one in his five hundred strong company had mastered all the forms. There was quite a difference, however, between knowing an entertaining dance and using it effectively in combat. “That I would like to see. Do you think he could best me?” The giant grinned and puffed out his chest a bit. Gareth paused and took the question seriously.
“You have certain advantages that he might not be ready for, so I would favor you for the first few matches.” Then Gareth grinned. “But should you beat him, he will haunt you like a spectre until he learns all he can from you.”
Beornen bellowed a laugh at that. “I will consider what you’ve said Gareth. Recruiting may indeed add to our infamy, but I’m not sure I want to fight the other mercenary companies and the slaver’s guild for him.”
Gareth appreciated that the big man always put the good of the company first, and considered all the angles. “Surely you don’t think someone would be reckless enough to try and grab him in Osenvale?”
“I do think someone will try, and I agree it makes no sense, but some of the other companies have already been talking about it. I feel like someone has been goading them to action. We’ve been in this city for a couple of weeks and there’s a lot of unusual movement in the underground. As I said, shadows at play, puppets of the Ssythe and the slavers working together. That alone seems unusual, and the fact that they are operating at all in a Mecran city is even more so.”
“What will the company do?”
“We will watch and wait. Whatever plays out should be entertaining at least and unlikely to involve us directly. Have a care Gerath, it is not unusual for slavers to use someone perceived as a friend of the target, as a means to get close to them.”
Gareth had a lot to think about. Despite the commander’s warnings he would seek out Catwright when he entered the city. If he wasn’t aware of the danger, he needed to be warned. Also, Gareth still felt that one of the best moves for the kid and the company would be to recruit him to their ranks. He also wanted to dig deeper into whatever plots were afoot in the city. Espionage was not his strength, but it seemed like the company had their nose to the ground, so he would start there.
Luarca
Minions swarmed around the hulking abomination like ants in a frenzy, desperate to please the creature. Willing or not, they served, their small minds had no real ability to resist. This is what the Gnarr-Ssythe had been built for; war and conquest, domination of the weaker races by raking claws and crushing teeth. Standing at over seven feet tall, with crocodilian features, hard grey-green scales and at least four arms, what they lacked in intelligence they made up for with raw ferocity. Luarca had wasted little time upon reaching the surface, putting plans into motion. The Ssythe had been breeding for decades on these islands. They had been left alone by the softer races, thought to be defeated. Now the Ssythe would strike, not just for conquest, but for a foothold and access to more power. These changed creatures who worshipped the Lord of the Unseen were still pathetic, but they were improved tools and with time would become even more so.
The help of the Gavanti had been procured much more easily than anticipated. They wanted wealth and slaves for some great excavation project they had in the far north. Wealth was simple, and the Ssythe were very good at providing slaves. The ancient cult had been ecstatically celebrating the return of their god or some such nonsense. Luarca had casually investigated and found some moderate divine magic in their midst, but it was not a familiar signature. It was probably some new rising power grabbing any desperate devotees they could manage. Agavantor, the lord of darkness and magic, had been before Luarca’s time, an ancient enemy of the pesky druid god and supposedly well and truly dead. Hopefully, that was still the case. The legends told of an evil the likes of which even the Crawler in the Deep did not wish to encounter.
Power emanated from the writhing ritual circle in the courtyard of his new aboveground abode. The dwelling was unnecessary; after sleeping for years, it would be decades before rest was needed again. If the goals of the ritual were accomplished, the idea of rest would be obsolete. Having any indoor area for living seemed a waste; none of the elements could cause this form any serious discomfort. There was food aplenty all about. A ravenous hunger had taken over upon reaching the surface, and the titanic horror had gorged itself on human slaves and the slower Ssythe for hours. The feast had revitalized and empowered its atrophied body and refreshed its mental faculties. Now the monstrosity wielded an arcane knowledge of the veils, long forgotten by lesser beings. It modified the older techniques of mana amplification, creating more useful rituals fueled by lesser implements stitched together by mystic weaves. Five humans formed the sides of the pentagonal ritual. Their taut, tied, naked bodies twitched in agony. Their skin was ravaged, and their raw throats were useless after hours of screaming. Yet still they lived. Humans did have a certain resilience, which made them an excellent resource for soul-powered magic.
There were a variety of Ssythe and Gavanti agents in the city called Osenvale, but Luarca preferred to keep the conflict between humans as much as possible. With the aid of the augmented circle of enhancement, plenty of weak-minded individuals could be directly influenced, even from over a thousand miles away. Simply bending its will toward the pentagon showed Luarca hundreds of thousands of glowing souls and soft human minds. The master psion had tried to directly influence the Isubane child, but whether it was the distance or some inherent resistance, the most it had accomplished were some minor nightmares. The boy hadn’t even woken up or reacted to them in any noticeable way.
The ritual also opened up communication to all of the agents within the city, and some of them were strong enough to influence other potential pawns. They were already stirring some of the mercenaries into action. If this plan failed, another group of specialized contractors within the city could accomplish what was needed with minimal fuss. This shadowy syndicate owed favors and a great deal of their livelihood to the Ssythe, whether they were aware of it or not. It might be time to call in some of those favors. And of course, there were contingencies upon contingencies. Luarca had not lived for almost a thousand years by being complacent. Now that his full awareness was bent upon the surface of Primythera, there would be change.
Dain
There were several things most people did not know about the great grey bears of the Lelldarlyn Mountains. It had to do with their magical nature and how they were able to exist in the first place. A normal bear the size of Feingar would be encumbered by its own weight, actually making it slower than its smaller cousins. Yet, the grey bear’s bones were lighter and much stronger than normal bones. Their muscles were also far more powerful in proportion to their mass. Druids and scholars all recognized that such a creature did not evolve naturally, and theories abound as to their origin. Their uncanny intelligence and physical prowess make them a dominant predator on the peninsula of Lendre.
Feingar also had the unique advantage of having a very powerful magical saddle, a gift from Duke Kerold Oboggin of Konig after the unexpectedly brutal Konig River campaign. The fine-looking leather saddle was studded along the outer seams with small sapphires. It magically improved the mount’s speed, reduced their fatigue, and provided sustenance. It was specifically crafted for long-distance rapid travel on a warbear. This was how Dain Sulwood was able to make the normally three to four day trip to Braunwood Town and the castle of Count Eckheart of Vessalia in less than five hours.
The Count was a large man in his late sixties with a head of sparse grey hair and a prodigious paunch. Though he styled himself a military man, with ornamental armor and a jeweled sword, Lord Eckheart had left the military after his mandatory two years for more mercantile pursuits. Rumor was that he was at the battle of the twin gods, when Isulas, Isuna and their army stormed the gates of Mecre City. After seeing many of his friends slaughtered trying to hold the line, he’d lost his taste for violence.
Dain counted some forty nobles occupying the great hall in attendance of the Count and his advisors. There were six Barons, including Baron Galunte of Lockdale, who was Dain’s direct senior in the hierarchy. Looking around at all the various military-style uniforms, Dain reflected on the differences between this government and the feudal societies of old. Mecre’s governors were generally selected on merit by the council of druids in Mecre City, and they conducted themselves much like a military chain of command. There was less formality and ceremony and more practical decisiveness. If a Duke were a general under the king, then a Count might be a Colonel, and the Barons act as Captains and so on. Everyone also knew that they could be fired and replaced without regard to their genealogy.
The social atmosphere was relatively casual as food and drink were served. Pleasantries and platitudes were exchanged in equal measure, there was a friendly and familiar air about the chamber. Many were discussing military matters such as training and equipment, while others made minor trade deals and inquired about friends and relatives. Meetings such as this were very rarely held for economic reasons, however, as Mecre did not have any serious issues in that area. One of the benefits of having a druid council and a druid patron god was an abundance of food. Many farms could produce four or five normal yields a year, and selling the surplus to neighboring realms made an easy profit. No, a gathering such as this meant one thing: war.
In the center of the great hall, a large, exquisitely detailed stone war table depicted the southern half of the peninsula of Lendre, including all the surrounding islands. This was no game, however; this was a map of Mecre’s actual military forces and known enemy armies. In just a few days, the Ssythe armies had spread out from the islands of Memath and Chelan and taken over the entire multi-island nation of Coramar. The small kingdom was sparsely populated and had very little military to speak of, yet it was still hundreds of thousands of people who were now likely slaves or meat for Ssythe bellies. Mecre was organizing a defense of its coastal population since the King believed that would be where the lizardfolk would strike next. He also wanted to organize a counteroffensive to liberate the Cormarians, but most of the druid council was opposed to the idea, citing neutrality and possible threats from the north.
Druids generally would not go to war unless it came to their doorstep, and Mecre the kingdom had thrived under this philosophy for over a thousand years. Mecre the king believed that the time to flex and train their military strength was now, and that war was inevitable; he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t. There were a great many Mecrans who saw their returned everborn king as a warmonger, an omen of doom, and someone to be feared, but there was no doubt that he knew battle. It was said that whenever the king arrived in person to a conflict, the outcome was all but predetermined, no matter the odds. He could not be stopped on the battlefield. The Ssythe, however, had their own undefeated champions.
The group of men and women at this gathering, already burdened by the weight of leadership, had become used to war over the past few decades, but those battles had been mere skirmishes compared to what was coming. Reports had the Ssythe warriors numbering close to a million. It would drain all of Mecre’s garrisons to field a human army a fraction of that size. Thankfully, Mecre was not asking for such a commitment just yet. A defensive war could be waged with far fewer soldiers, especially with the aid of the druids. The council nobles agreed that a levy of twenty percent of their standing troops would be adequate.
There would be no squabbling or politics over who should go or who should stay. All was balanced in the land of druids; it was the way of Neador and had been for over a millennium. As for the soldiers, there would likely be volunteers in excess of twenty percent anyhow, as Mecre was a patriotic kingdom that did not suffer invasion lightly. The meeting was conducted and concluded in the space of one long meal. Within four hours of arriving, Dain was on the way back to Breckan’s Hold with new orders and a grim purpose. He would assign his own portion of the required levy and then leave for Osenvale to assist Duke Jamelyn in negotiating with the mercenaries gathered there. There he would also unite with his wife in the effort to keep his impetuous youngest son from joining the war effort.
The Upgrade Blog 