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  1. #1
    Iron Aquilifer's Avatar Protector Domesticus
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    Icon1 A Born King - Act One completed

    Since my first attempt at an AAR ended fairly quickly, I have decided to stick up this, my "project" which I have not postponed indefinitely (my name for the pieces I start and then decide should be binned)


    I am not by any means a great writer, nor anything other than an amateur who getting easily distracted from studies

    So, anyway, a brief history of the story:
    A Born King (placeholder title) takes place almost eight years after a rebellion had disposed a dynasty which had held power (they claim) for centuries at least.

    The Rebellion, named afterwards as the Rise of the Boar, occurred on the back of a previous war, named the Summer War, which saw the Kingdom of Narvir lose face as it was forced to give much of its wealth to the enemy who many Narviric nobles saw as defeated. With knowledge of this discontent, Bonifatius Iphus, Jarl of the Palehills and Defender of the Western Peaks declared that he was going to gather at his seat an army with which he would dispose of the current King, Damon Frost, and install himself as the King who would see Narvir regain its prestige.
    Damon Frost, who had won every major battle in the Summer War, was informed of Bonifatius' plans by one of the loyal nobles. He then sent a force to arrest the disloyal Bonifatius and bring him to the capital of Dalla before a traitor army could be assembled. The force was ambushed and almost entirely destroyed. This didn't cause Damon to gather his army yet, and instead he organized a feast, with which he would begin the process of reinforcing the bond between his family and the ruling elite.
    It is at this feast that the prologue of A Born King is set, some seven years before the actual events of the story...

    Peoples of Sandria:
    Note: The ancient histories of the peoples are merely tales. This is not a true fantasy story with gods and magic and mythical beasts able to speak the tongue of humans. There will be events which would probably never happen in real life, but that does not mean that anything can happen. Truth becomes warped with the retelling, as will hopefully become apparent in the story, but the reader will see (hopefully) through the falsehoods.
    Anticuum:- were the bastard offspring of Welntos’ children with the Primores, and were deemed as candidates as mates, and in some cases husbands and wives, to the gods. They are tall, with a hard, lean build and dark or black hair. They were predominately found in Narvir, although a few outsiders claim an ancestry.
    Primores:- were the first humans to inhabit the world. The first Anticuum had divine powers, but after their separation from the cloud city, they became true mortals. The Primores are now only different from the Anticuum in that their hair was brown or red. They worshiped numerous deities, in a variety of creeds. The most long-lasting is that of Welntos, the Warrior-Godking who fathered the Great Dallan Bears which ruled the lands before man.
    Tempestas-Natus:- were conceived by the gods of storm and rock during the War of Strife, lightening their blood, salt their skin, and stone their souls. They are a small, thickset people with dark hair. The Tempestas-Natus are renowned for their savagery, despite considering themselves as noble exemplars of the new religion they follow. They had lived on the isles and coastlines of Sandria and Flendria, with kings claiming rule over vast kingdoms, sometimes even rivaling the might of Narvir, although that is long in the past.
    Sol Populus:- descendants from the sun and the moon and the stars, these tall, tanned people with flowing honey-colored hair had expanded from the sandy wastes of the heartsoils of Gavoria to rule over almost the entirety of that continent. During one of their numerous wars, one of the Sol Populus leaders brought their people to the southern lands of Sandria, while another went around to the flatlands of southern Flendria. Those who settled in Sandria used violence to carve out their lands, trying their best to rid the lands of the “heathen” religions and replace them with their own version.
    Paacras:- horselords from the Sea of Flames, they are a lithe people with dark skin and thick black hair. While they once only lived on Gavoria, they sold themselves as mercenaries and Paacra slaves have found their way across the known world. A large khanate, known simply as the Scourge, has traversed Flendria for nigh on a millennium, only allowed to remain due to the fact that it does not regularly threaten the powers clinging to the western rocks of the continent.

    Kingdoms and powers of Sandria:
    Kingdom of Narvir:
    The kingdom is in the north of the continent of Sandria, kept safe from the other powers by a near impassable mountain range on three sides, and the Storm Sea to the east. Narvir is a cold land, flat and grey, with only a few hills and valleys scattered across the realm. However, there are large areas of land given over to dense forests of oak and pine, which are still rumored to hold the last of the Great Dallan Bears who had once roamed freely across continent.
    It has not been conquered, even for a short duration, since the first records of man have been inscribed. It is often referred to as the Kingdom of Ice, given that the Narviric peoples believe that Welntos was once the god of winter before slaying his uncle with a spear fashioned from ice. The kingdom has the purest bloodlines of the Anticuum and Primores of Sandria, if not the entire world. There have been no great influx of foreign genes, although a few Narviric noble houses trace their history back to mercenaries or slaves who have earned their place in the realm through war.
    Petty Peoples of the Frozenplains – a former extension of the Kingdom of Narvir, the nobles of the Frozenplains broke free from Dalla during the Summer War, and although they did not fight against the Dallans, it was the desertion of their men from Damon’s host which finally caused him to seek peace. They have no overlord, and instead war relentlessly to find a leader strong enough to rule.
    Empire of Havoria – recent victors of the Summer War, the Haveras dynasty now rules a realm encompassing the entirety of the Divide, and almost all of the lands east of the Vein, the largest river in Sandria. While the Haveras are true-blooded Sol-Populus, as well as many of their powerful supporters, the vast populous are comprised of Primores, Tempestas-Natus, Paacras, Flendrians and the newly-arriving Tamverians.
    Free-States of Empirus – a collection of cities which had formerly been vassals of the now greatly-reduced Republic of Argentumurbem, the Free-States maintain the only professional standing armies in Sandria. While the might of Empirus is great, the cities are constantly warring both openly and in the shadows, trying to assert their dominance. While the people were mostly Primores, the arrival of Tamverians has led to both a religious and ethnic divide between the cities, with those accepting the new arrivals forming closer links, while those who reject them create military alliances among themselves.
    Republic of Argentumurbem – was one of the more secluded lands in Sandria, with natural defenses on all four sides, and only one safe route in to the fertile heartlands, which is defended by the Gate of Agothas. The Republic, at its height, ruled over Empirus to the south; the Vein to the east; the Divide to the north. However, given the greed of their leaders, the republic saw numerous civil wars and rebellions. Now, the council of the people has full control over the republic, and the general-rulers who had once commanded the respect of the army and the people have been killed. They have been driven back behind the Gates of Agothas, a situation which the councilors are happy with, until the people are finally comfortable with true democracy.
    Petty Kingdoms of Saldinia – almost eight different families, from a variety of backgrounds, lay claim to the once legendary Saldinian Empire, which had covered as far west as Patagonia, and as far east as Tamveria. While the title of Emperor had not been used since a century before it’s inevitable fall, powerful warlords still claim to wish to see its old borders reformed.
    Tribes of the Grass, Tree, Hill and Mountain – while many of the tribes inhabiting Sandria are little more than bandit gangs or groups of exiles, the majority are the old Primores who lived humbly off of the land, caring little for titles and power. However, they have learned over the centuries, and now war is more than their passion. When not bickering over petty disputes, they are gathering to invade the civilized lands. The tribes are mostly focused around the central belt of Sandria, from the Divide to Argentumurbem and along both banks of the Vein, but the hillforts or large caravans of carts can be found near enough anywhere.

    Please, any comments, both negative and positive (if I see any negatives, just watch your back ) will be most deeply appreciated!


    ( I of course joke about watching yourself if you comment negatively, )


    Links to Chapters

    Page: 1
    ONE
    TWO
    THREE
    FOUR
    FIVE
    SIX
    SEVEN
    EIGHT

    Page: 2
    NINE
    TEN
    ELEVEN
    TWELVE
    THIRTEEN
    FOURTEEN
    FIFTEEN
    SIXTEEN
    SEVENTEEN
    EIGHTEEN

    Page: 3
    NINETEEN
    TWENTY
    TWENTY-ONE
    TWENTY-TWO
    TWENTY-THREE
    TWENTY-FOUR
    TWENTY-FIVE

    Page: 4
    TWENTY-SIX
    TWENTY-SEVEN
    TWENTY-EIGHT
    TWENTY-NINE
    EPILOGUE



    ALSO, BEFORE I FORGET AGAIN: Big thanks, again, to Inarus for the Bear Banner (he made like six different copies for me) and the others which are not related to this
    Last edited by Iron Aquilifer; September 22, 2014 at 03:14 PM.

  2. #2
    Iron Aquilifer's Avatar Protector Domesticus
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    Default Re: A Born King

    Prologue - Red Kiss Feast

    It had been too long since he had gathered the ruling body in the capital, he realized as soon as the first nobles arrived for the feast. Should he have done so previous, he could have caught wind of Jarl Iphus’ intentions long before they bore fruit.
    And if I had, I could have made an example of him long ago. Yet Damon Frost, Jarl of Dalla and King of Narvir, knew where such thoughts led: loss of self-confidence. A lack of confidence led to indecisiveness, and that led to rebellion.

    And still it happens.


    The king would not participate in the feasting; it was his gift to his people. Instead, he sat stiff on the great throne of the Beast Palace, watching his nobles gorge themselves. He frowned when he noticed those who ate poorly, or when someone didn’t eat. He emitted a low growl when he saw those who raised their voices too high, or let too much wine pour down their throat. However he didn’t let the men and women know of his displeasure.

    I must be the king who feasted them lavishly, not the king who instructed them in proper etiquette
    . The Narviric people were a proud people, and the nobles who reigned above even more so.

    “Your Most Honourable,” Cyprian of the Brittle Beasts knelt before his king.

    “What is it?” Damon asked, his eyes drawn to his son, who slipped between the tables offering goblets of watered wine to the children who were dwarfed by their older relatives. The king completely forgot what Cyprian’s presence meant.

    “We have the traitor, Your Most Honourable.”

    You have my thanks, Welntos
    .

    “Take Smarv out of here, and see to it that he is safe. I shall come for the both of you after I have had his confession.” As the young man dipped his head and went about his duty, the king allowed a smile. We have him.

    Nodding to a nearby guardsmen, Damon's eyes locked on the great oaken doors which would soon open to reveal a man who would become known only for how he died: a traitor beheaded by a King as cold as stone, and as strong as steel.

    The man strode towards him confidently, as if he had nothing to fear. He was flanked by two Danages, their swords pressed against the man's chest, yet still he managed to keep his head held high. There was a lightness to his step which came only of living with the knowledge that you held great power.

    The assembled guests stood from their seats at the sight of the traitor. Hundreds of Agoges and merchants and Jarls, together with their wives and children, pushed to get a better sight of the rebel.

    The man was forced on to his knees before his former king.

    Damon pursed his lips together in displeasure. Why is he still clad in armour? Shaking his head, the king stood. "Bonifatius Iphus, you are a traitor, guilty of conspiring with the Havorians to seize control of the throne and of the attack on the column sent to arrest you. How do you plead?"

    The feast was over, the guests knew as much. Their king would sentence the traitor and carry out the execution himself.
    Yet how did he retain his armour? Damon didn’t have the answer and it vexed him. He had been told that the Jarl had been captured while he slept in the Godswood alone. Yet he stands before me as if it was his plan all along.

    "I plead guilty, only of not freeing the people of Dalla sooner!" The men either side of him stepped back.

    "Free them from what?" Damon's sword, never far away, was in his hand. "You are a traitor, hoping to deliver them to the Havorians in chains!” He then noticed the blade tucked in to the Jarl’s belt. “Guards, retrieve his blade!"

    The guards didn't move.

    "Damn it, their Bonifatius' men!" shouted Lysander, the old noble lunging forward with a knife, still dripping gravy. His two sons, Manius and Maxentius joined their father, rushing towards Bonifatius and his men.

    Without a word, swords were drawn and the guards lining the walls rushed towards their king. The Brittle Beasts were already around Damon, waiting his orders.

    "No you don't old man!" Jason Farstride the Elder thrust his blade deep in to Lysander's chest as he ran past. As the warrior fell, the traitors emerged.

    Recoiling, Damon watched helplessly as Chiron Nordire, called the most honourable Jarl of Narvir, drew two blades from deep within the folds of his cloak. A smile on his face, Chiron stepped up behind Lysander's sons as they stared in disbelief at their father's limp body.

    They never had a chance.

    "Damon!" Bonifatius' shout tore the king's eye's away from the killing blows of the Casper's finest blades.

    The traitor had his sword in hand.

    "For Dalla!" Damon roared and charged. His Brittle Beasts charged with him.

    The body of a Cornico fell in front of him, the killer one of his Brittle Beasts. A man, the boar of Iphus on his chest, set upon Damon. Ducking under the man's wild swing, the king shoved his blade deep in to the man's gut, driving the point as far as it would go.

    Bonifatius barely gave him time to pull his sword out before he was on him, a curse on his lips.

    "Arrogant! Stubborn! Lustful!" Bonifatius delivered a dozen blows within a heartbeat. "You are no great king!" Stepping back, the traitor shifted his blade to his left hand.

    "You are no king at all!" Damon shouted back, lunging forward. Bonifatius turned the blade way with a wild swipe. Turning with his blade, Damon delivered a savage elbow in to Bonifatius' face, sending him sprawling.

    "Look around you!" Bonfatius spat, wiping blood from his face. Around them, men clashed amidst the remains of a feast and the pools of blood. Woman cowered as they were hacked apart, boys screamed like girls as their parents fell before them and babies wailed at the loud roar of the fighting.

    More and more men converged on the battle, a dozen sigils on their chests and shields. The boar set upon the bear while the bonfires, crossed axes, giants, comets, hourglasses and dragons clashed against each other.

    Dozens of bodies lay sprawled on the ground, and more and more joined them.

    "All your fault!" Damon roared, although he wasn't speaking to the man at his feet.

    The Brittle Beasts were set upon by an ever-increasing amount of traitors. One or two fell to the blades of once-allies.
    "Your Most Honourable, we must go!" one of his guards told him, battling with two Agoges clad in bronze.

    No! I will not flee from the enemy!
    He never had, and never would. "Bonfatius, you are a traitor to your king and gods, and I sentence you to execution, as are the laws of gods and men." The king spoke slowly, delivering each word like a hammer-blow.

    Around him carnage ensued. Calver Farstride, the Captain of the Right skewered his brother-in-law Zeno Blackpyre in front of Gemma, tears streaming down her face. Murnos Burrowcore drove his fork in to his father's neck as the man ran to join Andrelo Drygon against a trio of Iphus’ Danages.

    Families set on each other and themselves. Mothers clawed at their sons and wives at husbands. Forks, knives, plates, fists, nails and teeth slashed and tore flesh. Men died from a hundred savage thrusts of sharp steel. Men were killed as they hesitated before the final blow. Men met their end by slipping on spilled wine, the stone ground splitting their skulls open.

    Bonfatius laughed. "Then do it!" His blade had fallen from his grasp, and picked up by another combatant. Damon growled. A courageous foe, the king grudged the traitor.

    As he brought his blade up for the fatal blow, a girl, barely fifteen, dived in to him, her nose crunching on the metal of his shoulder.

    "My king!" helmeted faces were above of him.

    "Get me up!" he roared, swords driving in to the girl’s body.

    He looked round, fear encroaching. Where is Bonfatius?

    He spotted the traitor being half-dragged towards the doors of the great hall. Jason Farstride held one arm, Chiron Nordire the other.

    The two sides began to draw themselves up, with the initial frenzy giving over to slow grind. In the middle wailed the women, reaching out towards their family members who were on the wrong side. Gemma Farstride knelt by her brother's dead body, her husband looking at her pregnant body with something that could have been regret.

    Before the horrors could reach his men, Damon shouted loud and clear, "Forward men of Narvir!" More and more loyalists were filing in, their eyes barely glancing at the dead or the women caught in the middle.

    The two sides jumped in to each other, anger and pain fuelling them. Damon lashed left and right, his blade finding flesh. He blocked the downward strike from Chiron and returned with a punch to the man's square jaw.

    "Traitor!" the king roared, over and over as he forced his former friend back. He was eighteen again, full of energy and power. His fists were stone as he delivered a string of savage punches. Damon refused to use the blade of his sword. He doesn't deserve to feel it's edge.

    All around him men died, chunks of flesh being ripped out by teeth and nail. We feel the same, he snarled as he delivered a strike to Chiron's throat with the hilt of his sword. "A harder battle than unsuspecting youths!" The man fell, clawing at his throat for air.
    A ferocious roar erupted from the king as he scanned for his next target.

    A strike on his head knocked him over, and he fell on the dying body of Chiron.

    "The king is down! To the king!" At that signal, the outnumbered traitors broke from the fight, leaving their dead and dying as they fled towards the streets of Dalla.

    As Damon was dragged away, he roared in anger as the traitors fled, his loyalists remaining close-by. They will be destroyed, Damon vowed. "We will destroy them!"
    Last edited by Iron Aquilifer; April 24, 2014 at 12:19 PM.

  3. #3
    m_1512's Avatar Quomodo vales?
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    Default Re: A Born King

    Good start. Looking forward to more updates.

    Have a rep.


  4. #4
    Iron Aquilifer's Avatar Protector Domesticus
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    Default Re: A Born King

    CHAPTER ONE

    Seven long years away from home. It had seemed longer to the young man, him being only a child when he left. He had fled, chased by the men his father had once called brothers.

    "Now, I am home," he whispered, staring at the strip of land off in the distance. The sea was calm, the sun alone in the sky aside for a flock of gulls who circled over the mainmasts. A score of warships cut through the water, trained rowers heaving with all their might.

    The lands of Flendria had become a second home to him, and Smarv had felt sad leaving the land he had grown up in. Fought for. Bled for. A hundred allies had been made when he was there, and each provided men and money for the exiled king to retake his realm and get his revenge.

    "Your Most Honourable, we will be beaching?" asked the ship's captain. Abelard was tall and stocky, with a thick mane of blonde hair framing a square face. He, like most Flendrians, hadn’t been sentimental enough to name his ship, although he had taken Smarv's suggestion of Honour's Steed with a toothy smile.

    “Yes, there are few ports, and fewer still are enough to accommodate your warships. But that is not the real reason: I do not want Bonifatius to learn of our arrival until our forces are assembled. He has spies and informers everywhere, to better maintain his grip over my kingdom."

    The captain nodded, and strode away, bellowing orders at his crew. Letting the man do his job, Smarv looked longingly at the strip of land which was his home. Home. It didn’t look like much from where he stood at the prow of the ship, more a bleak grey scar on the horizon than the glowing ray that he hoped to return to.

    In his dreams, Smarv had envisioned himself landing on a beach, swarming with his supporters cheering his return and presenting Bonifatius in chains. Instead, he jumped off of Honour's Steed at the head of an army just over a thousand in strength, with no-one in sight. He sighed as he strode across the sand towards the dunes which he hoped would hide the small fleet until they were finished off-loading.

    Fluvius and Icarus Helgate sat beside their king on the dunes. The brothers were identical in almost every respect, despite the five years difference. Fluvius, the elder, had served in the personal guard of Smarv's father, and had commanded the surviving loyalists who spirited the young prince away.

    The younger, Icarus, had commanded the men who sacrificed themselves to see the young boy-king safely out of Dalla, and then Narvir entirely. The few survivors had only just returned to Smarv when he put forward his plans of reclaiming his birthright.

    "Where shall we march?" Fluvius asked bluntly, scanning their homeland. "Casper Hill is close by, although it was burnt to the ground during the rebellion. It will make do as a temporary campsite."

    “Yes, it is nearby, and we needs get somewhere relatively defendable. This strip of rock and sand will be the death of us.” The king thought for a moment before declaring, “We will march to Axefell, the Wintrues are related to me through my mother. They were loyalists to the end."

    "And so they were rewarded greatly by Bonifatius for their resolve against him?" asked Icarus, sarcastically. "All those who fought for you are either dead or shadows. Bonifatius will have made sure that the loyalists pose no threat to him."

    "Where else shall I go?" Smarv demanded, looking at neither man. "The Drygons are too far away, the Cornicos threw in their lot with Bonifatius and the Nordires are bound by marriage to the traitor! The Burrowcores and Grainfields were divided between cadet branches, each vying with each other. The Blackpyres lost everything during the rebellion and Jason Farstride watched my father execute his! There is no other option!"

    The two men remained subdued for a long time, until Fluvius spoke softly. "Why are we looking for the support of the ruling families? It was the people of Dalla that uplifted the Frosts to the throne. It will be the people who cast down Bonifatius."

    "The people are still trying to rebuild what was destroyed," answered Smarv, his happiness of returning home short-lived. I should have foreseen this. Yet he had been too clouded by desire. I wanted to come home. I want revenge. "At least ten thousand died against the Havorians, and another five during the rebellion. There just isn't enough men to fight."

    "What of the Lycans? Or go to the Divide! Marsis Trueblood could field an army rivaling your father's and he was little loved by his people. The Lycans will have been overlooked during the rebellions, as their holdings are in the mountains. At least a thousand Lycans will march beneath your banner. And we will pass by Axefell and The Coil on our march."

    He is right. "The only problem is that Dalla sits in the way to their mountain holdings. If we march north to Axefell and then The Coil, then Bonifatius will learn of our arrival and march out to face us."

    Smarv glanced behind him as the two brothers whispered, surprised to see that the Flendrian clansmen had already almost finished unloading. The small fleet had beached itself all along the coastline, unfurling dozens of bright banners representing each of the chiefs who had pledged themselves to the Dallan exile. The ships would remain until the army had disappeared from eyesight. The ships would then sail back east, to bring across any more volunteers, although Samrv doubted any would offer themselves.

    "Maybe that is what we want," the brothers said after a moment of conferring.

    Smarv finally turned to the brothers who had given everything for him. "What do you mean?"

    The plan they offered him was worse than suicide. But it was a plan.

  5. #5
    Tigellinus's Avatar Citizen
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    Default Re: A Born King

    Ya'know, have you ever read A Song of Ice and Fire?

    Just read half the prologue, I already love this story.

    +rep please continue this brilliance!

    Thanks

    Tigellinus




    Proudly under the patronage of McScottish

  6. #6
    Iron Aquilifer's Avatar Protector Domesticus
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    Default Re: A Born King

    Quote Originally Posted by m_1512 View Post
    Good start. Looking forward to more updates.
    Many thanks

    Quote Originally Posted by Tigellinus View Post
    Ya'know, have you ever read A Song of Ice and Fire?
    Is it that obvious?
    I will not lie, I have been pretty heavily influenced by Martin's aSoIaF world, and this is probably the main reason I have done the story I have done (well.... started to do)
    If there are parts which resemble what has been done before, either by a published author or another contributor on this forum (forgive me anyone who has contributed and is a publish author) then I hope that it is simply coincidence rather than me stealing what they have done.

    I will update the OP with a slightly more detailed history/setting of this fictional world, and try and explain a few things which are not addressed or glossed over in the actual piece.

  7. #7
    Iron Aquilifer's Avatar Protector Domesticus
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    Default Re: A Born King

    OP updated, I will see about posting a map which shows Narvir and/or the rest of Sandria.... if I can figure out how to use my printer/copied to put stuff on to my computer...


    CHAPTER TWO

    Casper Hill was a burnt shell. It's once strong walls had gone, the stone bricks scattered like corn. The great hall, which sat alone atop it's hill, was open to the elements, and red moss spread out from the hall's entrance like spilled wine. Grass had covered much of the stone courtyard and the fallen bricks of the wall.

    This was a wealthy seat. The Caspers of Casper's Hill had been a proud family of Agoges and merchants, providing Narvir in war and peace. Lysander and his sons Manius and Maxentius had guarded the gates of Dalla during the Summer War for eight days when the Frozenplain mercenaries tried to take the city, only to die during the Red Kiss Feast. Lysander's grandson Jonas Casper had fallen in Icarus' rearguard, while Jonas' cousins Lucan and Marc died in Flendria, protecting Smarv from an assassin's blade.

    Now it is all gone. Barely any of the family had survived. For their part in defeating Bonifatius' supporters from the Frozenplain, the traitor had had the town and fields burned, the soil salted. All the women and children raped and sold in to slavery.

    Their loyalty cost them everything.

    The Flendrian warriors, clad in bronze scales over thick kilts, had set up a camp within the burnt remains of the village. Over two hundred tents of thin leather and string were clumped together around the base of the hill. With the sky clear and the weak sun at its zenith, the clansmen were constantly moving, patrolling the outer limits, digging latrine ditches, and a hundred other chores palmed off by Dallan warriors to their servants. These clansmen are selfless.

    Icarus, clad in a leather cuirass and holding his helmet in the crook of his arm, trailed behind Smarv as he walked around the grounds, unsure of his duties.

    Captain of an exile's non-existent royal guard, the notion would have made Smarv's father laugh. "You claim that they will betray Bonifatius?"

    "If you cannot trust your followers, then how can they walk the path set before them? They will come, if only to lay eyes on the last Frost. The Last Bear King of Winter."

    An ancient title, from a harsh time.

    "It is not winter, not for many days." Or so I hope, there will be much to rebuild.

    The man smiled behind his king's back. "They will come. Hundreds, if not thousands of spears ready to be presented to their true king. And if Bonifatius himself comes, well then, we will laugh as he is dragged before us by his men. He will then be brought before the graves of your family and his throat slit to feed their vengeance."

    Smarv stopped in his tracks. "Traitors blood will not sully my family's graves. He shall be burned and his ashes frozen, as is custom. He was and is a warrior and I shall follow our people's customs."

    Icarus bowed shallowly as Smarv continued walking.

    He shall kneel before me, and proclaim me his king before I kill him, so that none may even attempt to use his daughter to destroy my kingdom.

    "I hope your brother is successful Icarus. If he is not, then, your blade will taste blood sooner than expected."

    On the fifth day, when the sun had set and the only light was a dozen torches, a large column of riders, horses frothing at the mouth, rode in to Casper's Hill, Fluvius at their head.

    Shaking the cobwebs of sleep from his head, Smarv met the riders outside his tent, Icarus and a dozen clansmen at his side.

    The young king smiled as he instantly compared the two peoples: the Flendrians were large, with huge muscles and thick manes of blonde hair; and the Dallans were tall and lean, with cropped hair darker than midnight. One was the upholder of duty and honour, while the other lived for war.

    The Wintrues greeted him first. Old Caligula offered a withered hand, while his sons Nicomedes, Patricius and Silenus each knelt before him, their helmets placed at the feet of Smarv. At the feet of their king.

    "I wept when my niece and nephew-in-law were butchered in cold blood; when my brother and his children were slaughtered; when my daughter was defiled; and the God Lair was set aflame," the fire in his eyes burned as fierce as the torches illuminating the party. "I have wept enough."

    Gripping each one in turn in the warrior's clasp, Smarv turned to the Blackpyres. Once a powerful family, rich and respected, they had served loyally. For their centuries of service, Bonifatius had their lands taken, parcelled out to his supporters. Any member captured was executed. There are few left, and they are mine. The thought gladdened him much less than it worried him. Too few of the old blood remains. The blood decides the man, whether he likes it or not. Bonifatius is proof of that.

    Consus Blackpyre of the Scorched Vale, head of the Blackpyres in exile, kissed his king's hand. No words were spoken as his family stepped forward: His sons Draco and Eduardus; Draco's child Blasius in hand with Draco's wife Clarissa; Consus' pregnant wife Acca; Consus' ancient uncles Aigidius, Amedeus and Kaius. Each one muttered words of sympathy, as if they had not lost anything.

    Behind them stepped forward the delicate figure of Felicia, daughter of a now dead brother of Consus, wrapped in furs and bearing a tiara of spun silver. "It is with a glad heart that I lay eyes upon you, my king." She smiled shyly, blushing slightly when he placed a soft kiss on her cheek.

    "I can only say the same, Felicia Blackpyre."

    Near two hundred riders, a quarter women and children, joined the Flendrians. They set up their tents amongst the clansmen. The horses were tethered outside Smarv's tent and were provided grain from the stores. Exhausted from their hasty ride, the loyalists quickly fell asleep, allowing Smarv to return to his bed.

    Easing himself back in to his bed, Smarv tried to remember the last time when he had been as glad to see Caligula's pale face, or the broken nose of Consus. Both had been unfriendly faces when he was a child in the Beast Palace, stern men who disliked warmth of any kind. And Felicia's unblemished face is a welcome distraction. She had visited the Beast Palace several times before the Summer War, and stayed for several weeks during the rebellion.

    "Even in war, Zeno tries to further his family," Damon had almost joked, if the King of Narvir could joke. Despite his father's words of warning about becoming attached to the girl, Smarv spent much of his time with her, the young children comforting each other during the fearful early days of the rebellion.

    Maybe she will want me to comfort her in the days ahead. Both our fathers are dead and more loss will be felt. The smile which played on his lips vanished quickly. More loss will be felt, until I can feel no more.

  8. #8
    Tigellinus's Avatar Citizen
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    Default Re: A Born King

    Oh no, I was not calling you out on it! I was actually marvelling at it, your writing reassembles his, and that is something to be proud of!




    Proudly under the patronage of McScottish

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    Iron Aquilifer's Avatar Protector Domesticus
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    Your are far too kind! (and if I were you, lower your expectations of the future installments... it is safer that way )

    CHAPTER THREE

    "We were lucky," Smarv told Fluvius at dawn, as the now larger camp was being dissembled. "You had been captured by one of Bonifatius’ pawns , then it would have been the end of everything."

    “You have much to fear," conceded the warrior, a smile breaking free. "But I am not one. You command and I obey. A hundred and fifty swords I brought you, and the ability to summon a thousand more."

    "The Wintrues have that many left?" Smarv glanced at his mother's family, each one bearing the crossed axes sigil on their heavy shields. Each man was clad in bronze or iron, although a few had newer, more expensive suits made of steel or iron scales on leather. Sharp steel was at their hips and short spears in hand.

    "The Blackpyres were scattered across the realm, some even fled to the Divide or the Frozenplains. Consus gathered the majority of his followers at Axefell, where they buried their arms and armour beneath the spirit-trees. When the time comes, three hundred shields will bear the bonfire on their shields in the line."

    "Three hundred will not hold three thousand. At your insistence I alerted Bonifatius to my arrival and he has already called his spears. The Nordires and Cornicos have already mustered their strength to Dalla. The Burrowcores and Grainfields are gathering their men as we speak, and I have no doubts that they will answer his call."

    "We have a thousand here, fierce clansmen and swift mounted nobles. Warriors all. A thousand veterans wait us at Axefell. The Lycans and Drygons another two thousand at the very least. Four thousand eager spears. Thousands will desert Bonifatius once he is bloodied. So why are you so worried?" Fluvius asked quietly, watching several clansmen approach, their faces blank.

    All the eager spears will turn their backs if I am the first to be bloodied.

    "King Smarv, we wish words of you." Chief Halrof of the Argnes was barely sixteen, but was of height with Smarv, and was wider than most men. A loud, opinionated clansman, he commanded the loyalty of his men through strength, fear and a simple charm. He had saved Smarv when only fourteen.

    A good man, rash and fickle, but determined.

    "What words do you seek?" Smarv asked, gesturing for Fluvius to leave.

    "When you outlined the plan at early dawn, you said that battle would be offered, but only to slip away. I believe that you see no victory if battle were to take place." Half true. "You will have victory if we strike them early, when they are unawares. In the dead of night, when they think themselves safe from harm, the war will be won. A single strike at the pulsing black heart and the throne is yours."

    "You suggest massacre?" Smarv tried to look down on the chief, but Halrof's height and build made that almost impossible. "By the time we meet on the field he will have near five thousand, soldiers and old men and boys barely old enough to grow a beard. If we strike at night, then we will have to butcher them all and on the morrow, five thousand families will mourn the loss of their loved one, and curse my name."

    "You will have victory," growled Halrof, insistent. "Give them terms on the morning. Let them know that you will spare those that surrender. When we strike, then they will lower their blades or turn them on your enemies."

    "Wishful thinking, my friend. When they wake to chaos, they will rush to defend their comrades. Five thousand will die, and my kingdom will fall to its knees. There will be no strike."

    The clansman looked set to argue, but he turned and stormed away, the other chiefs following suit.

    I don't know if they agree with him or not. The clan chiefs had made friends with their leader easily, and they strove for his affection, going as far as setting themselves against their own beliefs to prove themselves.

    He gave me a home away from home, and a thousand swords when I came begging.

    The sun hadn't fully risen over the sea when the army marched out.

    Smarv rode at the head, Consus and Caligula at his sides. The Helgate brothers behind, leading the mounted contingent of Dallan warriors. The Flendrians were forced in to an undisciplined column and marched behind the nobles.

    A dozen Blackpyre boys brought up the rear on skinny mounts, protecting the small train of supply carts.

    Not the most impressive sight, Smarv admitted, but it made his heart swell up with pride. These are my men.

    They marched north, along the cobbled road which followed the coast up to the mountain range which surrounded Narvir. The cobbles were dusty and the fields to either side hard from the cold. Even when the sun was at its strongest, only a weak heat warmed the ground, making farming a difficulty.

    But we farm away, and when the rains ruin the crops we replant until we can feed our family. Dallans were a hardy group of people, more akin to the Flendrian clansmen than the folk of the Frozenplans who used to call the Frosts their king and themselves Dallan.

    Looking across the hard landscape, devote of much of the greenery he was used to in Flendria: instead of rolling hills and thick heather, there was flat soil, recently planted. A strong, cold wind whipped through his cloak, which had flapped calmly in the highlands.

    Not a beautiful land, he grudgingly accepted.

    "Your Most Honourable, should we speak about this plan of yours?" Caligula asked after a period of silence. Consus nodded his head in agreement.

    "Yes, of course. You both know of the letter I sent to Dalla, demanding the immediate surrender of Bonifatius and the reinstallation of the Frost dynasty. Bonifatius is gathering an army at Dalla, full of his supporters."

    "This we know," Consus spoke quietly. "Five thousand against our one. We will run with our tail betwixt our legs under the cover of darkness."

    "It is the only way," replied Smarv coldly, brokering no argument.

    "There is another," assured Caligula. "We race towards Axefell, rally the men. Drive further north to the Coil, with the Drygons in tow we ride to the mountain peaks, and buy Lycan berserkers with promises and praise."

    "Many of the men beneath Bonfatius’ banner will not know that I have truly returned. They will think that I am simply a foreign invader. I must be seen,” Smarv declared. And let us put the fate of the realm in their hands.

    "Running on the eve of battle is better than racing to gather support for the righteous cause?" The exiled lord's words rung true. "Not all of his men will be loyal. They will have lost family and friends to Bonifatius' treason, and only await your arrival. With equal forces, Bonifatius' disloyal men will race to our banner."

    "Why didn't they flock to me when I sent the word? A hundred letters sent by bird and an envoy on horseback?" They must see me, words written and stranger’s voice are not the same as seeing with your eyes.

    "That is not fair, Your Most Honourable," Caligula spoke with sorrow. "Bonifatius' rule has been harsh, on everyone. Only those who openly rebelled for him have wealth or power. Most of Narvir's fighting men are toiling in the fields, trying desperately to feed their families. Give them a chance."

    “A chance? My father gave Bonifatius a chance after his first betrayal. A dozen good men died after my mother forgave a foreigner who tried to sell her to the Havorians. There will be no chances. They will serve, or they will die."

    “They have already died for you,” Caligula breathed, his eyes seeing the past. The darker days.

    Smarv urged his mount in to a trot, and the entire column quickened their pace. He did not watch the old man turn his mount to join his family, allowing the Jarl to do so without any further slight.

    I must be the man they follow out of love, not simply duty. But he couldn’t see how he could make them love him, when all he can offer was death. More death and loss.

  10. #10
    Iron Aquilifer's Avatar Protector Domesticus
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    CHAPTER FOUR

    It was sundown when the column arrived at Ten Ropes, the seat of Jason Farstride. As Smarv’s host began to stretch out to either side of the road in to the walled settlement, a score of Agoges marched out of the village's main gate.

    At their head marched a man clad in an armour Smarv hadn't seen in years.

    Ever since the Frosts became kings, they had had an elite bodyguard of devoted warriors, named the Brittle Beasts. Each man made the promise that they would rather break than bend beneath the blade of a foe. And near enough all members had honoured that promise.

    Their armour, resembling the Great Dallan Bear which had once ruled the lands before man, was no longer forged. Bonfatius had seen to that when the Gods Lair was burned, and the precious salts destroyed. He had viewed them as a threat. As he did anything founded by the Frosts.

    Taking off his snarling helm, the lead warrior knelt before his king.

    "Your Most Honourable, I am Castor Vextus, once of the Brittle Beasts before their exile."

    Smiling Smarv called to the man to rise. "I know your name Castor Vextus! Stand! Stand! A loyal man need not speak on his knees before me. What is it that you need tell me?"

    "Thank you, Your Most Honourable. I regret to inform you that Jarl Jason Farstride will not admit you beneath his roof, and requests that you leave his lands."

    "Has he already declared for Bonifatius?" demanded Caligula.

    Uncertainty crossed Castor's face. "I do not know of the Jarl's intentions."

    "Is he in there?" demanded Caligula's eldest, Nicomedes, an angry expression on his face. The faces of Consus and Caligula paled as they came to the same conclusion.

    "How many?" demanded Eduardus, unconsciously touching the scar which had been cut down the length of his face.

    "Six hundred spears with a hundred mounted." Castor's answer was met with roars of outrage.

    "When did he leave?" Smarv asked softly. I knew he wouldn't accept the son of his father's murderer as king.

    "Yesterday. We are all that is left of the fighting men."

    "Are you loyal?" demanded Smarv, suddenly enraged. Seven hundred spears will be the end of us. “Will you follow my commands as you did my father’s?”

    "Of course, Your Most Honourable. I am sworn to the noble dynasty of Frost"

    "Why did you enlist with this traitor then?" questioned Consus, striding forward.

    “You would not have me in your party. I was the man who outlived the man he swore to die for."

    "You claim to be loyal, yet you will not allow us entrance in to Ten Ropes." Smarv stated coldly. More and more Blackpyres and Wintrues were gathering around the king and the Agoges.

    "I am loyal. I fought for your father when I was younger than you are now! I saved his life a dozen times during the Summer War. When Bonifatius betrayed Damon it was me he sent to arrest him. You know this!"

    "And you failed," growled Amedeus, his thick dark brown hair and blood-shot eyes giving him the appearance of a mad-man. “If you had only killed him when you had the chance, none of this would have happened!”

    "Yes, and I must make up for my mistake. My king, I beg of you, allow me to protect and serve you, as I did your father." He was on his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. The men behind him didn't know what to do, unable to speak for themselves.

    "And what of the men behind you?" Caligula muttered. "Are they loyal, begging for forgiveness and meaning to live?" The question stirred the twenty.

    "We are loyal." One spoke from the front, a youth barely eighteen. "Several of us were with Castor at the start, when Bonifatius ambushed them at the Godswood. The rest are loyalists stripped of their lands."

    "What is your name?" Smarv demanded, forgetting the former Brittle Beast for a moment.

    "I am Dorus of Ten Ropes. I was once Dorus Wintercloak, however I turned my cloak so many times I was labelled a simple brigand by both sides." He spoke with a blunt honesty Smarv had only encountered once before. From his own father.

    "You shall become Jarl Dorus Wintercloak of Ten Ropes should you kneel, and swear yourself to me. All your former sins will be washed away if you serve me loyally."

    The youth's eyes widened, a smile brightening up his bland face. He knelt, head down, and gushed an oath from between thin lips. "I swear, by Welntos, my creator and protector, to serve loyally, and honourably."

    "Do you promise to deal justice when it is demanded, to stand beside the true king in times of war and peace?" The man's answer sealed his fate with that of his king.

    If I fall, so shall he. Bonifatius will not have him even if Dorus delivers him my head on a silver platter.

    "We should enter, and feast the naming of the Jarl!" declared Halrof, turning to his clansmen with an eager smile.

    The expression on Castor's face made Smarv disagree.

    "Castor was given a command, and to act against it would dishonour both us and him. We shall camp outside, and march on the morrow."

    The men grumbled, but Smarv knew it was the right thing to do. The people will know that I am not a bloodthirsty tyrant. I am a good king.

    "Thank you, my king. I ask only one more thing from you." The Brittle Beast's skin was like leather, and crow's feet were deep at the sides of his eyes.

    "What is it that you wish from your king?" Smarv asked, pulling the man towards his tent.

    "Only the honour of serving you in your Brittle Beasts. I know that I have dishonoured myself, and the name of the Brittle Beasts but, I cannot stand by and watch the fighting pass by."

    "I have no Brittle Beasts, only Icarus Helgate, who is more commander than servant. You shall serve under him, the shield of my right hand." Smarv gestured to the men behind him.

    Forward stepped the Helgate brothers, fully armed and armoured, unhappy with their king’s decision.

    "You shall swear Icarus an oath, and then you will begin the long road to redemption."

    The man didn’t need to be told where the road ended.

    It rained heavily during the night, turning the hard field in to a marshland by the time the sun returned. Everyone, from mighty king to scrawny boy had to lend a hand dragging the weighed-down carts on to the cobbled road which would take them further north.

    "I will march west when we reach the crossroads, with our entire foot strength. You shall command the rest north. Ride hard and fast, and remember that you have women and children with you."

    The man stiffened. "My place is at your side."

    "Your place is where I tell you. Your brother will be my shield. You, my voice. Caligula and Consus cannot speak for me. The Lycans will be bound to me."

    Icarus, clad in bronze, walked up to the two men. "We are almost ready, Your Most Honourable."

    "Good, find your mount, we will leave as soon as possible."

    "Remember Fluvius, we are the heroes, come to rid the evil desecrating our land."

    The man nodded slowly, making a list of everything he had to offer to the men of the northern mountains.

    He was finished long before Smarv started down the western road towards Dalla.

  11. #11

  12. #12
    Iron Aquilifer's Avatar Protector Domesticus
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    Default Re: A Born King

    Quote Originally Posted by McScottish
    +Rep...moar please.
    I agree!

    I have to spend more rep to give you rep, spent too much on you

    Brilliant chapter!

    Thanks

    Tigellinus
    Honestly, too kind!

    I will have to slow down updates to keep the actual story ahead of the posts

    But thank you for the support, it is appreciated!

    @Tigellinus, very much liking your co-op Shogun AAR (and hurry up with those spell checks )

    @McScottish, yours is megh.... I did very much like the Great War AAR and will eagerly await its continuation

    yours is megh.
    I of course joke

  13. #13
    McScottish's Avatar The Scribbling Scotsman
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    Default Re: A Born King

    Quote Originally Posted by Stannis the Mannis View Post
    Honestly, too kind!

    I will have to slow down updates to keep the actual story ahead of the posts

    But thank you for the support, it is appreciated!

    @Tigellinus, very much liking your co-op Shogun AAR (and hurry up with those spell checks )

    @McScottish, yours is megh.... I did very much like the Great War AAR and will eagerly await its continuation


    I of course joke

    I'm going to kill you....but not really...but maybe...

    The GW AAR shall continue as soon as I get home from New Zealand, about February next year I'm afraid, until then I'm unfortunatley going to have to keep reading this shlock.

  14. #14
    Tigellinus's Avatar Citizen
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    Default Re: A Born King

    I agree!

    I have to spend more rep to give you rep, spent too much on you

    Brilliant chapter!

    Thanks

    Tigellinus




    Proudly under the patronage of McScottish

  15. #15
    Iron Aquilifer's Avatar Protector Domesticus
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    Default Re: A Born King

    CHAPTER FIVE

    The thousand Flendrians marched along the cobbled road without complaint, singing songs which helped eat up the miles. On their backs they carried great backpacks which contained everything them needed: food, clothing, dismantled tents, tools with a hundred uses.

    "How close is Dalla?" called Halrof marching behind Smarv's mount.

    “Another ten days at this speed."

    They had managed twenty miles the first day, stone markings at the side of the road counting down the distance to the capital. Smarv felt certain that the Flendrians were speeding up, energy flooding through their bodies.

    "And how long until we face Bonifatius?" Icarus asked.

    "On the sixth day. Yet, the loyalty of his men may force him to strike earlier."

    "Let's hope that he dismounts all of his men."

    With only a handful of riders with them, the Flendrians would be massacred when they fled the field.

    "He will have to," Dorus said with easy confidence. "Unless he wishes for a mass desertion on the eve of battle. The mounts will be tethered to his personal tent, which he will have guarded by his most loyal men."

    "Why not mount his loyal men and chase us down?" Icarus questioned. Like Smarv, he had been away for too long to truly know the men they faced.

    "These are not Agoges we speak of, or Frozen Chiefs or Jarls. Danages and serfs are who he can rely on, and even then not fully. They do not know how to ride in any event. Besides, he must be seen to stand with his 'brothers', else everyone will desert him."

    "You say so," Smarv spoke coldly. "If he has even fifty riders, then we will be crushed. Consus' and Caligula's sons are brave but few in number, they will be killed should they have to do more than screen our forces."

    The discussion trailed off as Nicomedes Wintrue rode up to them.

    "What is it Nicomedes?" Smarv asked, suddenly aware of how vulnerable the column was. Before the man could speak, Icarus halted the Flendrians and had them prepare their blades.

    "There is a column, several hundred in strength, marching along the road. We will catch up with them soon."

    "How soon?" Smarv demanded, nodding to Icarus to get the Flendrians moving again. If that is you Jason.

    "I cannot say, Your Most Honourable, but if not day, then early tomorrow."

    Quickening the pace, Smarv called to Halrof, "Let's put your boys through their paces!"

    His words were met with a roar and the Flendrians surged forward.

    They spotted the column at sunset, hurrying towards Dalla. The enemy marched in neat ranks, emitting no noise as they made their way towards Dalla. Some of them would be Bonfatius' supporters, having followed Jason Farstride the Elder in his treachery. Others would still remember Damon as their king.

    Smarv thought that he saw Jason look back at the thousand strong force and pale in fear. The king smiled when he saw the momentary disorganization of the column as they quickened their pace.

    No you don't.

    Without even having to be ordered, the Flendrians started a slow jog, smiles on bearded faces.

    "We will catch them up!" declared Halrof to the merriment of his men.

    The chase was still ongoing when the sun finally set, although Smarv knew that they were gaining.

    Soon, Jason will have to turn his men round and face me. He will not surrender.

    Icarus held a single torch at the head of the column, the only light Smarv permitted. Their quarry marched with the light of near a hundred torches, but it only made Smarv nervous.

    Men could be slipping out, laying an ambush.

    The Flendrians had spread out, better to catch any ambushers, but the king was still full of fear.

    Despite the fast pace of the clansmen, it was almost dawn before they had closed the distance with the fleeing Dallans. The men at the rear of Jason’s column had started to peer behind them, fear written across exhausted faces.

    The thought of the chase finally ending gave the Flendrians yet more energy.

    "Halt, in the name of your true king Smarv Frost!" Icarus' voice was loud and clear.

    Just when Smarv was away to unleash the Flendrians the column suddenly stopped, men muttering amongst themselves. At the head, half of the mounted men raced away, cursing the men who had stopped.

    "We have had victory," congratulated Castor Vextus, stiffly dismounting.

    "Yes, we have. Bloodless, but a victory nonetheless." He didn't admit that he had wanted blood.

    That is twice he has fled, Welntos. Do not allow him in to your halls when I remove him from this mortal realm.


    The Agoges were the first to face their king, chests heaving.

    So few. Barely eighty men stood before him, sweat-soaked clothing and glistening armour.

    "I am Smarv Frost, Winter King of Dalla and Narvir. Jarl Jason of Ten Ropes is a traitor, and will be thus dealt with, by the laws of Gods and Men. The new Jarl is Dorus Wintercloak, long may his family rule." Smarv urged his black stallion forward. "You shall swear yourselves to him, and your lands and titles shall be retained. Those who wish to flee may do so now, I want no traitors here."

    Not a single one moved.

    Dorus rode up beside his king. "I am your Jarl." At those simple words, the Agoges knew who would collect their tithes owed to the king; who would call them to war; who would dispense justice in their name; who would have their loyalty.

    No wonder traitors emerge, Smarv grimly admitted. They will owe Dorus more than me, and if he decides against me, then they will follow him, as Bonifatius' men followed him.

    The eighty men knelt. No words were spoken, as the oaths were for the Gods' ears only. When they had made their oaths, each man rose, and raised their spear.

    Dorus raised his sword and shouted, "By stone and ice you are bound to me, as I to the King I have sworn to serve. Honour is our voice and duty our strength. We shall never fall."

    "We shall never fall," came the stoic reply.

    With the Agoges his, Smarv turned to the rest of the men. Three hundred Danages in leather armour knelt, their cheaper arms and armour marking them out as having little money or land to their names. They were former slaves. They were the sons of war-heroes. They were the Narviric people.

    Behind them knelt over two hundred Chattelites, slaves bound to the highest bidder. Their blue tunics contrasted with the bronze and red of their brothers.

    "Once you were bound to the land of a traitor, now you are bound to the servant of the king. Once you were forced to toil at the command of a unjust Jarl, now you serve an honourable warrior. Rise and rejoice."

    Several raised and cheered. More and more joined their brothers, until even the Flendrians were roaring the battle chant, unchanged for a thousand years. "Duty. Honour. Victory. Duty. Honour. Victory!"

    A tear, brought on by tiredness and pride, trailed down his cheek.

    Victory, in my father's name.

  16. #16
    Iron Aquilifer's Avatar Protector Domesticus
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    Default Re: A Born King

    At least we are on the same page

    ----------------------------------------------------

    CHAPTER SIX

    Smarv woke to the sounds of drums and the cries of men.

    "It's Bonifatius!" someone declared, rushing in to his tent.

    "Gather the commanders here!" Smarv ordered the man, who raced back outside.

    I gave that bastard too little credit.

    Smarv had believed that Bonifatius would wait for him to attack, so had set up camp ten miles short from the traitor's own encampment, which was over thrice the size of Smarv’s.

    Alone, Smarv strapped on the leather he had worn in Flendria, well-used but still strong. Over it he clad himself in bronze, Dallan symbols adorning his greaves and gauntlets. His chestplate had a bear's snarling face carved in to it. His helmet was of the same style as Castor's except upon the beast’s brow rested a golden crown.

    "When they see me," he whispered to the misted mirror before him, "they will know who the true king is."

    Around a wooden table the men stood. Castor was to Smarv's left, Icarus his right. From Icarus stood Dorus, clad in thin steel plate; Halrof in his thick kilt; Rollo Closefield, the most senior Danage from Ten Ropes. Beside him stood Ovid Bagarus, his ebony skin contrasting with the pale white of the native Dallans.

    “They have four thousand spears," Icarus informed them, placing ten black coins on to the map before them. "We have six hundred, with a thousand clansmen." He placed four pale coins opposite the black.

    "Don't forget the mounted strength," Ovid interrupted, smiling as another coin was placed on the board.

    The former Paacra tribesman had lived on horseback, unlike the native Dallans. His father had been a slave, and won his freedom in the Summer War, granted lands around Ten Ropes, and a small herd of mounts to keep. He had been one of the casualties of Bonifatius’ rebellion.

    "Most of the land is flat farmland, a good battlefield for Dallans."

    The commanders nodded grimly. The advantage would be with the traitor.

    "Our Dallans will hold the right of the line. The Flendrians will charge without orders and quickly feint a retreat," Smarv showed his commanders with the coins, smiling as they hung on to his every word and movement. "The Dallans will break a moment later, and bring them in to the camp."

    Faces hardened.

    "They will be out of formation. Ovid will be the spear thrust down their throat. If that doesn't break them, then we will race to the Coil."

    The King of Dalla, as was tradition, heard not a word from his commanders. Battle was upon them, the decision was made. The men nodded and strode out, placing helmets over determined faces.

    Halrof glanced back at Smarv as he walked out.

    "Do you think we can win this battle?" There was no smile on the youth's face, only a feral glint in his eye.

    "Yes," the king answered, forcing a smile.

    The younger man walked out without responding, shaking his head.

    If you had asked me before I claimed the strength of Ten Ropes, then I wouldn’t have even been able to manage a yes.

    The armies lined up only a few hundred metres from each other. Smarv's Dallans forced themselves in to a tight rectangle, thirty across and ten deep. The Agoges, in their thick bronze and steel were distinguished from their Danage comrades by the wolf pelts hanging off of their full-face helms. Large metal shields interlocked to form an impenetrable wall, spears held straight. The Danages held longer spears, but their shields were smaller, and made of wood covered with bronze or leather. The Chattelites wore little armour and had only a small shield and spears barely strong enough to pierce skin.

    The Flendrians, huge beasts in their long, flowing clothes, waited in an unorganised rabble, some still sharpening their greatswords. Their scaled armour glinted prettily in the sun. Halrof, distinctive with a mountain lion's pelt around his shoulders, roared to his men, promising riches and glory.

    Around Smarv, astride strong mounts were the family members of the royal bloodlines who had remained with him. Icarus was to his left, and Ovid his right.

    "We will sit on the left, best to protect the Flendrians' heels,” the king told those around him.

    Bonifatius' army had stretched out, ten ranks deep. On the shields were half a hundred different sigils, some of wealthy Danage families, others of the great Jarls who ruled in the king's name.

    Scanning the disciplined ranks, Smarv noticed the lack of Agoges immediately. And there is a thousand less than first spotted. Nicomedes had provided valuable information on the enemy, and swore that there had been five thousand the day before. Yet only four thousand stood before him.

    Shaking, Smarv tried to make out Bonifatius in the ranks. The traitor-king would have to be with the army, to ensure that it didn't defect over to Smarv.

    "I cannot see him either," declared Icarus softly.

    "Have we had any word from your brother?" The Blackpyres and Wintrues were being given valuable time at the expense of his men.

    "None, but that was to be expected."

    Silence hung over the men as they waited. Birds chirped happily in the sky and a wild deer pranced behind Smarv's cavalry.

    After an age, a dozen drums started to beat, and Smarv's men replied by adding their own noise; twenty war horns sounded in unison. Without having to do anything, Smarv watched as the two lines closed, curses erupting from the ranks.

    "Ovid, take ten men and support the right."

    The man nodded and galloped away, the ten closest following him.

    "Give it to them boys!" Halrof roared, charging ahead of his men.

    Brave fool.

    Gripping tightly on to his horse's reins, Smarv winced as the Flendrians threw themselves at the enemy's shield wall. His Dallans didn't roar as they slammed in to the traitors, but they were just as relentless, pushing their shields as hard as they could, driving the foe back.

    "We are making progress," commented Icarus, patting his horse's neck.

    "Too much," Smarv replied. "The feint must appear real. Damn, where is Bonifatius!" If he was killed, then the war would be over.

    To the beat of drums, the traitor Dallans started to push. Smarv's Dallans managed to hold, but the Flendrians were forced back, more and more dying to savage spear thrusts.

    "Fall back!" Halrof spat, throwing one of his clansmen back. "This war is over!"

    For a moment, Smarv thought that the young man had been sincere, such was the haste in which he started fleeing.

    "Let's get on with this," he muttered, urging his mount forward.

    "Hold the line cowards!" Icarus shouted to the fleeing masses, eyes on the pursuing Dallans.

    A grim smile forced itself on to Smarv's face as he closed in to the traitors. They had broken ranks almost immediately to chase down the foreigners, making them easy prey for mounted troops. Smarv's sword came down like a lightning blot on the nearest foe, cutting deep in to his neck. The next man was ready for the king, his shield raised high.

    Dorus Wintercloak struck him while the soldier's attention was focused on Smarv, a swift sword thrust at his back.

    "Rally!" Smarv called. His eyes darting to look at the Dallan warriors under his command.

    The Agoges had the rearguard, a single line of warriors facing the horde. The Danages and Chattelites were less organised, although they too kept their weapons trained on the pursuing army.

    The ten horsemen Smarv had sent to the right darted in and out of the fight, trying to keep the traitor Dallans from overtaking the retreating men.

    Swallowing, Smarv urged his mount on, aiming at a group of Agoges who were running ahead of the rest of their force. As he charged, eight other riders joined him, swords raised in readiness.

    "For Dalla!" Smarv roared, his sword cutting through metal and bone alike. Before the men could even raise their shields, curved swords opened arteries and windpipes.

    No time to see the men fall, Smarv turned his horse around and charged off again, doubt entering his mind. How can victory be possible? The Flendrians were barely keeping ahead of their pursuers, and only Smarv's intervention saved them. His loyal Dallans would be surrounded if Ovid hesitated for even a moment.

    "Fall back!" Smarv couldn't tell who issued the command, but he knew that it had come from a Dallan.

    "My King!" Dorus rode up, his bloody chest heaving. "Our Dallans!" He pointed his blade over to the Agoges, who finally broke ranks and pelted back towards their camp.

    "Cavalry!" Smarv roared, raising his blade. There was no time for anything except action. "Charge!" He lowered his blade towards the retreating Agoges and urged his mount in to a gallop. They have to be protected.

    His stomach lurched as he was thrown from his saddle, a curse erupting from his cracked lips.

    He hit the ground hard, the wind driven from his lungs. Rolling on to his back, Smarv strained to look at his horse and spotted it laying a few feet away, a spear wedged in to its chest.

    A Chattelite stepped lightly over to the sprawled body of the king. He knelt down by Smarv's face, his brown face wrinkled and filthy.

    "Hello king," he whispered, his breath making Smarv recoil, lashing out with a gauntleted fist. The slave hissed a string of alien words, his dagger poised to strike.

    Smarv rolled towards the man, grasping his sword as he went, and struck out, opening a shallow cut down the man's chest. Jumping to his feet, Smarv lunged forward, driving his blade in to the man’s chest as he recoiled.

    Without a sound, the slave crumpled to the ground.

    "Your Grace, are you well?" Castor was off his horse, kneeling beside his king, eyes darting to and fro. "We need to get you to safety!"

    "Protect the Dallan retreat!" Smarv ordered, scanning to see any nearby foes.

    A traitor charged at them, a wordless cry on his lips. Castor dived in to the man, tackling him on to the floor. Castor's blade glinted in the sunlight as it was raised for the final strike.

    Like a hawk the blade swooped down, striking the man's throat before he had a chance to plead for mercy.

    Smarv looked towards the fleeing Dallans, glad to see Ovid and Dorus protecting their backs as Icarus ran down the enemy.

    "We must get back to the camp!" Castor urged again, his chest heaving.

    "Take you horse, I will run alongside my men," Smarv declared, already running towards the tents.

    Behind him, the enemy streamed forward, some calling out wildly, others silent, with hard expressions on their face.
    Last edited by Iron Aquilifer; May 08, 2014 at 08:01 AM.

  17. #17
    Iron Aquilifer's Avatar Protector Domesticus
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    Default Re: A Born King

    CHAPTER SEVEN

    The Flendrians crouched in the latrine ditches, faces scrunched up from the smell. The camp was barely a day old yet the ditches were filled.

    "Hurry up, move the wounded!"

    Two dozen men were dragged by their arms behind the fighting fit, the loudest having rags shoved in their mouth to hide their presence.

    "There!" one of Halrof's cousins pointed towards a group of men racing towards them.

    It was hard to distinguish between the Dallan soldiers, despite Smarv's commands to have his men wrap golden cloth around their helmets.

    "Loyalists!" they cried, jumping over the ditches.

    Scores of them streamed in to the camp, crying out their loyalty to Smarv. Behind them, hundreds of Narviric warriors chased after them, some already barging in to tents for loot. To the enemy, the battle was finished, all that was left was run down the enemy and divide the spoils.

    The young warrior spotted the King, blood splattered across his body. He ran with his men, turning every five steps to ward off a pursuer. With every swing he brought attention on himself and away from his men.

    "Alright men, get ready!" Halrof growled.

    The shame of fleeing from an enemy stung him, even if it was only a lure. His men felt the same, that much was obvious from the way they urged on the enemy to speed up.

    Someone called out, strong and commanding, "For victory!"

    With a surge, Halrof leapt to his feet, a maddened snarl on his face. A wordless cry erupted from the Flendrian lips as they slammed in to the traitor’s men. Behind the clansmen the Dallan royalists ran round the ditch, towards the flanks of the enemy.

    He couldn't see them, but Halrof knew that Ovid was gathering the mounted Dallans for a charge, and hoped that the tribesman hurried up. The entire attack relied on unity.

    "Clan Adel!" He roared, raising his greatsword.

    A Chattelite raised a small wooden shield to protect him, but the steel blade cut through it with ease, the rotten wood parting before the clansman's sword. A swift punch jolted the man's head back, the body going limp.

    Leaving the unconscious body, the chief jumped at another foe, who had faltered in his chase after seeing the Flendrian charge. He tried to raise his spear but Halrof was too quick. A head bounced and rolled around it's falling body.

    The Flendrians charged with such speed that dozens of Bonifatius' supporters fell before they could reform in to their shieldwall. This was the fighting which the clansmen excelled. No discipline, no order. A mad free-for-all as like the battles from an age lost gone.

    "Hurry!" Halrof called, jabbing a finger at a group concentrating together.

    His men were swarming over the Dallans, but the surprise of the attack was wearing off, and that could result in defeat. Speed was key. They couldn’t stop driving forward if they wanted to see another sunrise.

    He ran straight at the group he had selected, numbering well over two dozen, standing atop the recently felled remains of several tents. His eyes were glued on what could only be a nobleman, his armour and weapons richer-looking than the men's around him.

    A spear thrust took the man in the throat. The men to either side of the noble turned to look in shock, when they too, were pierced with spears. Suddenly, the group turned on itself, as men cried out, "Damon!"

    Crying the name himself, Halrof lunged forward, driving his blade in to the back of a man facing against one of Smarv's new supporters. A grunt of pain forced itself from the man's lips as he died.

    "Well met clansman," smiled a Danage, revealing a golden cloth tied around his arm.

    "That should be around your head." Halrof turned from the man and scanned the camp.

    His clansmen were cutting down the traitors, caring not for their own safety as they pushed further and further forward. Ovid and the nobles were diving in and out of the fight, running down the enemy whenever they could. And on the flanks charged the Dallans loyal to Smarv, dancing in between the tents to mask their presence before they jumped out, spears flying forward.

    They were victorious, so much so that Bonifatius’ men were forced out of the camp, back on the plain. They locked shields and waited for Smarv’s men to charge out. Even when the Flendrians pulled back out of sight they waited. As their friends cried out in weak pleas for help the men waited for an attack.

    It wasn’t until the sun had reached its zenith that the army advanced again. Slowly, careful for a sudden attack, the Dallans pushed in to the camp, meeting no resistance.

    Over a thousand men lay dead, alongside those who were too injured to walk. The moans and cries of the dead echoed across the land for miles around. It wasn’t long before the dying were silenced with swift, sure strikes.

    A handful of carts had been rescued from the camp before Bonifatius' men advanced on it a second time. The injured who could be saved were crammed on to the hard surfaces and the bleeding stemmed with their own clothing.

    The Flendrians held the rearguard, prepared to turn and fight again if they had to. Groups of them wandered off to hunt or pick mushrooms to eat and herbs to battle the smell following them like a thick cloud.

    The Dallans slowed down the march, most of the men having injuries which sapped at their energy. They fell where they stood when the call to stop came. Few of them ate, and those who did, munched on stale slabs of bread on the march, drinking only a shallow bowl of water.

    “Let them have a little while. Not too long, or the clansmen will try and wash themselves,” Smarv told his commanders as the army collapsed. “Let them go off to relieve themselves. We can trust them not to desert.”

    And with that, Smarv went off in to the nearby trees, grunting as he removed his armour, revealing dozens of cuts and bruises he had not had before. Steadying himself against the thick trunk of one of the pines, the King loosened his muscles.

    At least I didn’t do it during the battle, he decided as his knees went weak.

    Tears started to pour down his face, cutting channels through the dirt. Sliding down in to his puddle of warm urine, the boy shook uncontrollably as he cried. He had almost died. When that slave killed his horse. When that Frozen Chief launched his spear in to the sky. When those Agoges locked shields and drove in to the Flendrian charge.

    I am dying slowly. Gods forgive my weakness; the killing is getting easy. It should never be easy.

    Unable to do anything else, Smarv Frost prayed. He prayed for strength. He prayed for victory. He prayed for peace.
    Dorus and Rollo were beginning to go and collect their king when he suddenly appeared before them, a strange, distant expression on his face.

    "I have had a revelation of sorts, my friends. The details are, of course, between me and the Gods, but you can know one thing: it is the key to victory. Let us go, before Bonifatius' hounds are at our heels."

  18. #18
    Tigellinus's Avatar Citizen
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    Default Re: A Born King

    Ha, the spell check on my latest chapter (four, posed today ) is done, basically. Quite pleased with the chapter, if i do say so myself

    Very good chapters my friend, very good! Sorry I haven't been able to comment for the past few days! Been rather busy with school!

    Thanks

    Tigellinus

    Oh, and let us see if I can finally rep you again




    Proudly under the patronage of McScottish

  19. #19
    Scottish King's Avatar Campidoctor
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    Default Re: A Born King

    Great story! Look forward to more updates!
    The White Horse: Hanover AAR (On going ETW AAR)
    Tales of Acamar: Legends WS Yearly Award Best Plot Winner (On-going CW Piece)
    The Song of Asnurn: An Epic Poem MCWC VI Winner (On-hold CW Piece)
    Tales of Acamar: Outbreak (Finished)
    To Conquer the World for Islam A Moor AAR (Finished)

  20. #20
    Iron Aquilifer's Avatar Protector Domesticus
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    Default Re: A Born King

    CHAPTER EIGHT


    Halrof marched alongside Smarv near the rear of the column, where threat of attack was most prominent. The king said little as they marched, preferring to save his voice for when he discussed battle plans with the commanders at night. None of them had had much sleep, and it was taking its toll.

    Stepping over the exhausted form of a Chattelite, Halrof mustered up the courage to ask Smarv the fate of the men too exhausted to march.

    "If Bonifatius finds them, they will die. If he doesn't, they will return to their home. Well, at least try to get home."

    "And if they are deserters from the enemy?" Almost two hundred men had turned their spears on their comrades during the battle, and another fifty crept over during the confusion of the retreat.

    "They will turn to banditry to feed themselves."

    They have no other option. The prospect of death didn't faze Halrof as it did some of the men he had brought to the hostile land of Sandria, but knowing that your life was set in stone didn't sit well with the chieftain.

    "A man should be free to do as he wishes. They should not be condemned to death for doing what they think is right."

    "They have made their choice," the king pointed out, his voice hoarse from lack of water. “And this war has already cost many lives. What is a few hundred more?”

    The road they marched along was the straightest Halrof had ever seen, although in many places it was uneven, with great holes dug in the middle of the large cobbles.

    A thin line of trees lined either side, giving shade and colour to the relatively desolate land. The oaks were new, barely thicker than Halrof’s hand. The leaves were a vibrant green, the trunks deep brown. Few of the branches were thicker than a finger, but they were long and spindly, twisting in and out of other branches like an intricate maze.

    Eyes, wide and reflective, peered at the marching column of men with intent. Fangs barred and ears low, the shadows jumped and yapped behind the treeline, leisurely keeping pace. They followed the column until it stopped for the night. And under those watchful eyes the men made their camp.


    The warhorn sounded for only a few moments, before it was cut off by a cry.

    Without hesitation, Halrof turned and raced out of Smarv’s tent, grabbing his blade from its resting place at the entrance.

    “Is it Bonifatius?” demanded Ovid, gripping his spear in scarred hands.

    “No, it can’t be,” answered Rollo, his sword glinting in the half-light.

    “I agree,” Castor said, gesturing towards the closest soldier.

    “Why are we talking about it?” demanded Icarus, pushing past the men.

    Smarv followed him without comment, his eyes sunken and black.

    Halrof frowned at the man’s words. Icarus was one of Smarv’s most loyal supporters, and had sacrificed much to follow him, yet he often took over, much to the anger of the other commanders.

    Men were racing to the camp’s outskirts, pulling on helmets and drawing swords. Few knew what they were defending against. All they knew was that the screaming was getting closer.

    “Rollo, you go and see to the rest of the camp, this may be a diversionary strike. Castor and Ovid, your with me.” Icarus directed the leaders to where they had to go. He turned to Halrof and smiled. “Chief, you do what you do best.”

    At least he knows the men around him, Halrof grudged the man before racing off towards the screams.

    The camp was waking up, half-naked bodies scurrying around for clothes and weapons. They gathered together in small groups, hoping both to have something to fight and that the fighting would be over before it came to them. They knew the horrors of war too well to truly want more fighting.

    Jumping between two tents, Halrof almost killed a clansman, so suddenly did the man appear before him, blood-soaked clothing ripped and a feral snarl on his face.

    “They are in the dozens!” the man, little older than twenty tried to push past his chief.

    “Where are you going!” Halrof demanded, gripping the youth by his shoulder.

    “We cannot stand against them!”

    Before Halrof could utter another word, the man slipped from his grasp, and pelted away, leaving the chief to stare in to a pair of yellow eyes.

    It was as if every daemon imaginable had manifested itself within the camp. Soldiers strained to raise their shields as the nightmarish creatures set upon them. Men cried and boys screamed as hungry teeth sunk themselves in to soft flesh.

    A tent collapsed as a naked man was set upon by two animals, ripping at him with tooth and claw. His cries were feeble as thin arms tried to defend a face devote of skin.

    “Men, form on the king!” Icarus’ voice reached Halrof through a dim of rushing blood.

    The wolf was breathing a putrid smell on to his face, stained teeth glistening with blood snapping at him. Its powerful limbs tried to propel itself forward, but Halrof held on for dear life. His sword was on his belly, trapped by the weight of the beast. Yet the chief could do nothing to shift it without allowing it to get at his throat.

    “I am going to kill you,” he whispered, taking a deep breath.

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