Chapter 7: the silence before the storm

A few days earlier, in the afternoon of a foggy day. Skarr sat by a fire at a camp site, a figure can be seen approaching by his side.

“My lord, the liaison from the Dark-claws have come. they will be waiting for you nearby. but I must say, do we truly need these ‘iron-borne’ so much? The arcane knights, I believe are more then capable to help you further our goals.” Said the bald man with a goatee.
His large frame towering easily over 7 feet in height, clad in dark gray metal armor, it’s rims etched in imperial runes, Permeating an arcane glow.

“Esias, have you seen an iron-borne fight before?” asked Skarr, gazing into the fireplace.

“I have not, but I have fought wyverns, led many victorious battles for the empire. I have doubt that any iron-borne could do that, they have no proper training. Spending times in the wild could sharpen one’s body and mind, that I have no doubts. But to fight in a war? that takes more then a good physique.”

“Can your shout kill a man?”

“…My lord?”

“Have you seen how an iron-borne tore a man in half with his bare hands? How their weapons break from a few swing? How they throw the bodies of the dead as projectiles over fortified walls as a sport during a raid?”

Silence took over the camp fire, the flickering of flames seems to be the only thing remaining.

“What I seek is not to replace the arcane knights. yes the iron-borne’s power is a welcome plus, but it’s their savagery that I desire the most.
What I need right now are not knights, sir Esias. But wild dogs, wild dogs who do what is needed to achieve their goals.”

“And if they decided that you are in the way of their goal?” asked Esias.

“That’s why you’re here, aren’t you?” smiled Skar, that same sly grin appearing on his face.

——————

A flash of light, blinding to the naked eye.

A loud booming sound, deafening to the ears.

Kaivan, finding himself in the sidewalk of a large city, disoriented and confused. A flash of light blast by as the ground around exploded with a violent explosion, blasting him towards a wall, slamming into it. Knocking the air out of his lungs, knocking him nearly unconscious. Struggling up from the ground as he looked around, the smell of burning tar, the smell of ionized air filling his nose.

Fire, the city on fire, tall sky scrappers falling from their lofting peaks.

“GET ON THE GROUND” Yelled a voice from behind him, and a searing pain striking his back. Electric arcs striking at his back, paralyzing him as it burns his nervous system.

“We got another one,”

The voice yelled out, several more arcs striking him from multiple sources.

“AAAARGH”

Searing pain one after another, Kaivan could not but scream from the searing pain before falling into darkness.
——————

“Uuurgh”

Waking from his slumber, Kaivan could only grumble as he got up from the ground. The same dream that’s repeating for while for the last two weeks. A past memory, this time seems to be his death. at least, it seemed like it.

It also doesn’t help that he is currently being detained in one of the town’s holding cell, thankfully it was thoroughly cleaned for him in mind. A hay bed and a bucket for relieving himself.

“~Young master, how was your night?” an old voice called out from outside the cell, the smell of freshly cooked food filling his nose. Pork rib soup, yum.

“Bad, uncle Bas, can you speak with father about this?” smiled Kaivan wryly, the hay bed in here was stiff and rough, but considering the other cells had nothing in them, he was better off then most.

“Hahaha, you father Is currently busy working out the year’s campaign. But I will see what I can do.”

“He was pissed huh?” nodding his head as Kaivan got up and ate his breakfast, in spite of the angry growl from one of the cells opposite of him.

“Who’s that?”

“A fallen, a failed ritual. Unfortunate, but that’s how it is.”

“You’re not gonna end his suffering?” asked Kaivan inquisitively. A fallen iron-borne from a failed awakening ritual would be killed on the spot, no matter who they were.

“We were not responsible for his ritual, he was a red-scale. your father found him in the woods chowing down a fawn and fornicating with it.”

“So a corpse defiling lizard men, got it.” Finishing up the soup, Kaivan look over to the opposite cell.

The large, humanoid shaped lizard was currently weeping to itself in the corner of the cell. It’s scales were a deep blood red coloration, the signature of the red-scale iron-born ritual.

“Hey big guy, you still in there?” shouted Kaivan, to no respond from the large red-scale.

“No use, he is completely consumed by the wyrm. And their particular ritual makes them more susceptible to it’s influence.” Said Basira despondently.

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“The only way out is death, such is the life of a fallen.”

——————

Standing over a large map, Flint directed his attention to a small hill. The current steading of the Dark-claw tribe, looking back through his memories of the location. The many types trees, animals and beast, the many quirks of the terrain. the vantages points should one find themselves stuck under a siege, and how to break down those places. many though ran through his minds as he looked over the map.

“Almost there…” he murmured to himself, interrupted by a knock from the door leading out of his room into the main hall.
“Chieftain, It’s me.” It was Basira.

The place still reeks of blood and unstable energies, spewed from the elders during the ‘negotiations.’ His eyes twitch at the thought of that meeting, the stupidity of his son and the utter lack of reservation from his elders. Their hatred for the Dark-claws, while understandable is no excuse to utterly mess up the main hall like this, it would take days for the place to be cleansed.

“alright, come in,” rubbing his eye brows together in annoyance, flint invited Basira in.

“Chieftain, how are you today?” asked the old coot, smiling ear to ear. Completely exposing his amusement towards flint’s annoyance.

“No.” Answered the chieftain curtly. “He will stay in that cell and reflect for his actions.”

“Heh, I guess there is nothing that can be done for the young master.” chuckled Basira.

His Salt and pepper sleek back hair, this tall and upright man, old yet still brimming with life. Such is the constitution an iron-borne, especially one as old as he is.

Dressed in leather and fur, no different to any of the locals of the north lands. That is, in contrast to his elongated ears. A hall mark of elven bloodlines, such things would mattered if they were some where else. But here in the north lands, you can be a minotaur and people would still open their arms wide to accept you in.

“Now, what else have you come to me for at this busy time?” asked Flint, still looking over the map.

“Well, there is the matter of the Dark-claws, unless we want to wage a war with them now. How do we intend deal with aftermath?”

“The north land is a dangerous place. Predators are a plenty, and the sudden increase in demonized beasts makes things even worse. Don’t you think so?” said the chieftain, taking out a bag. Within it are a variety of demonized beast cores, most are the size of finger tips, with the exception of one core.

The spider core, the fist sized stone shocked Basira.

“So it’s true, Kvata has dealt with it it quite well. He is ready.” Smiled Basira proudly, that fatty has truly grown well.

“Indeed, take this bag and give this to them as remuneration. an apology for our 'inability' to ensure their safety.”

“As you wish,” taking the bag and tying it to his side, looking over curiously at the map.

“And the red-scale fallen?”

“I already sent word, we keep it alive for now. Depend on whether they want it back or not. If not, we end it’s suffering. Is that all?”

“There is one more thing…” said Basira, his voice trailed off.

“What’s wrong?”

“It involves Kai’s idea, the thing he talked about a year ago. the Nitri, uuh...the black dirt he calls fertilizer.”

If Basira had his curiosity before, he now he have his full attention.

“And how has that been going?”

“Well for one, the barrels we opened three months ago is nowhere as good as the one we opened yesterday. It seems the longer we wait the better the black dirt. Not to mention, it's affect on our pastures have gained much better then expected, Like three times the yield over.”

“Impressive, and how is everyone reacting to the method of production. i heard that the process is...interesting"

"The men finds it hilarious, the women did not, in fact find it funny. Apparently they find using urine to make black earth disgusting, who knew?” shrugged Basira, in contrast to the laughing chieftain currently holding his forehead in disbelief.

“Yes…who other then my son would have thought of cultivating piss, wood pulp and soil to make those ‘fertilizer’…”

“Anyway, is there anything else to report?”

“I think that’s about it chieftain, I d wonder, when do you think should we initiate the ritualfor Kvata? I think that he is ready no?”

“Well…I think in the middle ofthe year should be good. Yes, middle of the year it is. By then we would have a good harvest, if the fertilizer is as effective as you say it is. Yes, middle of the year.”

“Understood, chieftain. And what of our oath?” asked Basira, his voice turned cold. The previous amiable atmosphere was gone like a flash, replaced by a cold, dark presence.

“Winter.” answered Flint. His voice emotionless, turning his gaze back at the map.

“By the end of this winter, our oath will be fulfilled. Their blood will quell our thirst, their home will burn to provide us warmth, their flesh will feed our live stock. The lives they they took, will be returned. all of it, and more.”

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