Magical herbs are rare and extremely diverse. Essentially, they are plants that contain a particular type, or types, of elemental mana. The more mana they contain, the more likely that herb possesses some sort of magical defence: a shroud of fire, or perhaps an earthen barrier that shields them from sight.
Most of these defences are passive, always there. But the very rarest and most valuable herbs actively attack those who wander too close. For those herbs, you not only have to find it, but possess the strength to defend yourself from it.
Of course, these are incredibly rare… mostly due to people pulling out the roots when harvesting them. Magical herbs often dwell in unique, strange or dangerous environments. The depths of a forest, deep under the sea or on the lip of a volcano, perhaps.
And that’s why the rarer the herb is, the harder it is to cultivate.
Well, I have a whole garden full of them out back, though. People need to give gardeners more credit, it was quite difficult to stop them all from killing each other.
-An unknown scholar
After a few moments of silence, parties begin quiet internal discussions. The war will mean that some cities could be besieged, and others have curfews enforced… all of which will have terrible effects on the adventurer’s livelihoods.
And I can already imagine… In a war between two nations that are also different races, the racism that had been slowly decreasing over the last period of peace will rear its ugly head once again, increasing tensions further.
As for us… What the hell should we do? From what I know back from when I was summoned with the rest, both the elves and dwarves are going to ally with the humans in this war, and the beastmen are a bit of a wildcard. With us having party members from races on both sides of the conflict, we won’t be welcome anywhere.
“Where should we go?” I ask, not being able to come up with any ideas myself.
Xiltroth looks puzzled. “Go? Are we leaving the city?”
“Not the city, the country. If a war is starting between the humans and demons, Aaron won’t be trusted by the people here, because he’s a human. Same for you and the human kingdom.” Explains Boaz.
“We could go to Morrock, our homeland. The cities here are nice, but the ones in Morrock are so grand… it’s beyond words, I tell yeh.” Says Jakin.
Well, perhaps they won’t join the war immediately. And I would like to see the dwarven cities…
“Alright, how far is it?” I ask.
He narrows his thick eyebrows, thinking. Boaz intercedes. “We’ll be going west, past Binod kingdom, and a mite south, so… maybe a month? A bit more?”
“That’s quite the distance… Could we hire a carriage?” asks Xiltroth.
I shake my head. “It’s unlikely. There will be a lot of people trying to get away from the border because of this, so most carriages will already be gone come morning.”
“We should get some sleep. Things are going to be very different from now on.” Says Jakin, downing the rest of his beer. When he finishes, he looks more sober than when we started drinking.
We all quickly finish our own drinks and head off to bed.
The next morning, we start stocking up on the essentials for travel: Jerky, salt, some herbs for cooking, etc.
Town criers proclaim the news loudly in the streets, which are much quieter than usual. The people outside hurry along, and there is a marked increase in military presence.
I was right about the carriage situation, by the way. It’s like some sort of migration, seeing all the people leaving the city. Some people stay, of course, and all the military and important people in the city can’t leave, so they’re still there.
Each of us fill our water bottles, and a few spares besides. Then we are on the road.
With the amount of people travelling every which way, we have no trouble with bandits. Monsters are still an issue, but even they stay away from us all, for the most part.
A gusting wind pulls at the hair and clothing of the travellers, drawing the occasional frustrated yell as loose cloths, scarves and similar clothing get tossed into the air.
Something in the sky catches my attention: the cloths and clothing swirling around a single point in the sky. I nudge Jakin and point at it. “What’s that?”
He looks at it and shrugs. “Wind elemental’d be my guess. Mostly harmless, that sort of antics is about as bad as they get. Hard to kill, since they usually be floating around in the sky, so people don’t usually bother.”
I look at it again. It just swirls and drifts through the sky. Shrugging, I ignore it and continue on my way.
As days passed, the news travels further and further, and it seems as if with every city we visited, the guards grow more and more suspicious of me, until they barely veil their hostility. People on the streets avoid being near me, and even shopkeepers and merchants try to keep me away.
At some point, I just stop going into the cities, sitting somewhere nearby under a tree as the rest of the group restock supplies and inquire of the latest news.
People pass by where I’m sitting, avoiding my gaze as I watch them go. A few children stop to throw stones at me. They bounce off my armour, but it’s still saddening. Their parents quickly grab them and hurry along, glancing anxiously at me as they go.
I can see fear in their eyes, and that hurts more than any amount of rocks did.
We hear news of skirmishes along the human-demon border. The war truly has begun now, but it confuses me that I haven’t heard any news of elves or dwarves being involved.
After a week and a half of travel, Boaz checks his maps. “Welcome to the beastmen kingdom, Binod. We should make it to their first city in a day or two.”
Back on the battlefront…
Another skirmish is taking place between the two armies of humans and demons. To be exact, the ‘human’ army is made up of both humans and elves. But the demons have not yet noticed the alliance, because elves are fairly similar to humans and stature, and their distinctive ears are covered up by helmets.
What’s more, every battle so far has either ended in a draw or defeat for the demon armies, and so they have never had an opportunity to inspect the fallen on the battlefield.
The two armies line up in formation at either end of an open plain. Whatever animals or monsters once dwelled here had long fled before the thunderous sounds of thousands of feet marching in concert.
After a final resounding thump, there is silence once again, the troops of both armies ready and in position. A moment passes as the soldiers of both armies observe one another impassively.
Then a signal is loosed, and squad leaders shout the charge. Not even a second later, the rank and file troops raise their weapons and their voices in a deafening yell and begin to charge.
On the side of the human alliance, groups of elven archers nock arrows, aim into the sky, pull and release in unison. For a moment, the battlefield seems to darken as the flight of arrows passes overhead in a dense sheet, curving gracefully over the heads of the allied troops and open earth to rain down upon the demon troops.
There are very few fatalities, but injuries are more plentiful as some arrows find their marks between armour plates or eye slits, by sheer virtue of volume. The rest pierces into the earth, serving only as a hindrance to soldiers passing by. In a large scale battle, archers don’t need to aim. They just need distance.
Again and again the elven archers loose flights, with minor adjustments to angle, and time after time the demon army is beleaguered by raining projectiles.
And yet, they are not the only ones to have the use of ranged weaponry. As the demon army reaches within perhaps 150m of the human one, its soldiers stop, the entire front row of soldiers dropping to one knee, both them and the second rank of troops taking crossbows off their backs. Already knocked, they simply slip bolts into position, take aim, and loose their own deadly flight into the enemy ranks.
The humans raise their shields, but they cannot cover their whole bodies, nor can they stop; the weight of an army pushes them ever forward. Almost every quarrel hit a soldier: if not in the first rank, the second; if not the second, the third. The front rank is so thoroughly peppered with bolts that every one of them falls dead on the spot.
The second rank, not without casualties of its own, steps forwards over the still-warm corpses of their shield brothers, and advances forwards.
But this is not the end of their slow bleeding. There is still over a hundred meters left to traverse, after all, and after the first two ranks fire, they simply step back. Two more lines of crossbowmen step forward in their stead and loose a second volley while the first two re-cock their own.
However, it isn’t as if the human commanders are about to let them slaughter their troops without recompense. No, it’s just about time for the magi to start their attack. A group of perhaps a hundred magi stand around a formation drawn in some sparkling ink, pouring elemental mana into the crystals in the formation.
Moments later they are filled, and a black-skinned magus wearing gold-trimmed robes places his hands on the edge of the formation, providing it with that last requisite piece of mana. A huge rock perhaps ten meters across emerges from the formation, wreathed in flame.
It shoots into the sky and over the battlefield, towards the demon front lines. In response, a large earthen shield ascends from behind the demon army into the path of the flaming boulder in hopes of blocking it.
The magi watch on anxiously. A single magical spell cannot have multiple controllers. The arch-magus has sole control and responsibility over this one. Staring intently at the now distant magical projectile, he waits a moment longer, then speaks a single word from between clenched teeth: “Break.”
The flaming boulder splits into over a hundred smaller rocks that go almost everywhere - except where the shield is. The shield, unable to react to the new situation, simply moves to stop the rocks from hitting some more important parts of the army.
Before impact, the rocks each expand to almost the size of the original boulder. The fires around them glow with less intensity and the rocks themselves are less solid, but this spell was never meant to be a sure-kill for one enemy. No, widespread destruction was the single goal in mind during the creation of the spell known as ‘meteor shower’.
And widespread destruction is its result, destroying large portions of the demon army and leaving flaming craters in its wake. The human magi clap each other on the back, the arch-mage in particular. He gives a strained smile, but when he turns to face the demon army, all hints of happiness drain from his face, the corners of his mouth lowering into a grim line as he beholds the damage he has wrought.
Demon magi attempt to retaliate with a dense flock of fire arrows, but the human water magi simply encapsulate the army in a dome of water, the fire arrows simply fizzling out in a wisp of steam. There were simply too many human magi, and more skilled ones, in comparison to the demon army.
With the crossbowmen stopped, the human soldiers are able to advance unimpeded, and soon begin to clash. They seem to be evenly matched, trading injury for injury and death for death, but with the human army being larger from the start, and with the huge losses caused by the meteor shower…
It is a foregone conclusion that the humans will win.
It quickly turns from a battle to a retreat, and then to a rout as the remnants of the demon army run for their lives from the steadily advancing lines of troops.
One last time, the elven archers draw their longbows, pulling the strings to their utmost limits. They take aim, eyes squinting against the glare of the sun as they strain to see their targets. In less than a second, they adjust their aims to suit their individual targets, and loosed their arrows.
Unlike their earlier volleys, almost every arrow finds its mark, and scores of fleeing men fall, wounded or dead.
Later…
In the human army’s camp, the commander stands in the command tent, reading reports and formulating a clearer view of their losses and gains for this battle. A soldier knocks on one of the entrance poles, states his rank and intent, and steps inside after receiving permission.
He presents a sealed letter to the commander, then is dismissed and leaves the tent. Breaking the seal, the commander unfolds the letter. The contents are as follows:
Herein lies the information obtained from the interrogation of the captured Demon Captain.
Name: Zuikot Longhorns
Age: 38 years
Place of birth: Vagoz (Xin capitol city)
Rank: Infantry Captain (Commanded 100 men)
Listed underneath were various pieces of information about the demon army: troop movements, amounts, supply convoy information, etc.
At the bottom, there was one final note:
Additionally, I questioned him on why they suddenly raided an elven village and started a war after decades of peace.
His answer was confusing: He had no knowledge of the village in question, nor had he heard of any military movements prior to the war. He also said that we were the ones to start the war by destroying Vaaslav city.
I asked him this at both the beginning and after the interrogation: his answer was the same both times. He seemed genuinely enraged at the question, and I think he truly believed his answer.
Signed, xxxxxxx
The commander ponders for a moment, then dismisses the last part of it entirely. Perhaps he does believe it, but that doesn’t make it true. It could be that the demon king has spread misinformation so that his soldiers believe that they are in the right. Morale is an important factor in any battle, after all.
Besides, if he was telling the truth, then who did raid that village? Not us, certainly. And the demons are the only other ones who border on the elven kingdom. The matter of Vaaslav city is strange indeed, however. Spies have already confirmed that the city had been destroyed, but we hadn’t done that either.
But then… who had? The demons themselves? The notion is too farfetched. And yet, destroyed it is, and the culprit is completely unknown. Perhaps he should hand this over to his superiors, just in case.
If one were to say that human society and demon society are fairly similar, just with more focus on magic and machinery respectively, then Binod is an entirely different system.
It has laws similar to the others, with one crucial difference: instead of having to stand before a trial or something similar, the offending person is required to duel with the person they committed the crime against, or their representative.
In the case of the offending person being victorious or the defending party surrendering, they walk away with no consequence. However, the offending party is not permitted to kill their opponent, while the defendant is.
In a way, the society runs on the rule of survival of the fittest. Still, it isn’t like people go around stealing and killing brazenly. After all, while the offending person has to personally duel, anyone at all can champion the defendant, as long as the defendant agrees to it.
So, if you rob someone on the street, and some passing mithril rank adventurer takes offense to it, they can legally duel and kill you. Or perhaps you have a doting uncle that’s ripped to the high heavens.
It’s not only how strong the person is that one has to consider, but also the strength of the people they are close to… or can pay for. Only people with a death wish touch wealthy merchants, or so the wolf beastman next to me says.
We are currently sitting in the seats at an arena, watching one of those same duels. This time, the offender is a vagrant child, a mouse or possibly rat beastman who stole a meat skewer from a food stall.
The other party isn’t the shop keep, it’s the captain of the guard, a tiger beastman. Poor kid had the misfortune of stealing the skewer just as the captain was about to buy it. He doesn’t have a shadow of a chance.
Both are wearing simple grey pants and shirt, and are wielding plain iron weapons. The duel is meant as a test of strength, not wealth, so all equipment worn by either party is standard stuff provided by the arena itself.
Still, to the kid’s credit, he looks to be about as strong as I was after captain Pierce’s training way back when, and he doesn’t look older than twelve. Not that any of that means anything against a battle-hardened warrior. He is thoroughly trounced within a few strikes.
The captain of the guard holds his weapon high amidst applause from the audience. The fee for watching is a single copper, so there are quite a few people in the seats.
Instead of killing him, the tiger beastman cuts off both his thumbs. A grisly but effective way of stopping a repeat offense, I suppose. Without the thumb, most actions become difficult. He’ll never be able to hold a weapon again. Or, in all likelihood, perform any of the other skills he could have used as an alternate source of revenue to skulduggery.
Honestly, I’m not the sort to enjoy this type of… ‘entertainment’, and I think the sand in the arena is reflecting some light into the stands, because it is hot in here. “What say we leave for the next city soon?” I say to Jakin, sitting on my other side.
“Aye,” He says, already getting up, “I think I’ve seen enough already.”
Boaz stands up next to his brother, and Xiltroth on the other side of him. We filter down the stairs and back onto the streets.
The buildings here are fairly simple, with the arena being the largest and grandest construction around. A building having multiple stories here is unusual, as are clay bricks. Wood is the most common material here, apart from important constructions such as the wall around the city, which is fairly low in comparison to cities of other nations.
And yet, the city is larger than any I have seen before, although it seems more because the buildings have more space between them than a larger population.
It seems as if everyone on the streets is wearing a weapon, and most of them armour as well. A culture like this, I bet mercenaries and adventurers are pretty popular occupations.
But be that as it may, I doubt I’ll ever feel quite safe in an environment like this. I might fight for a living, but I don’t want to have to worry about being stabbed or having my things stolen all the time.
I prefer my enemies in front of me – ideally with my mace having an intimate moment with their face.
As we get onto the road again, I can’t help but think of another potential consequence of a warrior-centric culture… won’t there be more bandits? And stronger ones?
The thought gives me a vague sense of foreboding…
