Lands of Darkness

[Easthaven I]

Lands of Darkness

Dark Abyss
April 25th, 1468AD
Fort Trilo

Lord Cornelius sat at the desk, looking over the new recruitment system and the current status of the army. Then Philip entered the room making Cornelius divert his attention from the papers lying on his desk.

“General, they’ve returned.” Philip said.

“And…?”

“Here’s the commander now.” Philip stepped aside to allow a rather large man enter the room. The man walked up to the desk and informed Cornelius of what he came upon…

“General Cornelius, sir, we found the Varha home in ruins. Nothing but ash and a small grave remain.” The man said in sorrow.

Lord Cornelius took this news well. He did not panic nor did he let this affect his thinking. He knew it was dangerous for Fornalin to go out so far alone, and he knew the risks. He could no longer change what had happened, he could only adapt to it.

“Did you not find the body of Fornalin?” He said.

“No sire. Only a grave did we find. It’s too small to have been for Fornalin. The grave was only big enough for a child, General.”

Cornelius’ heart saddened. Fornalin’s son, he thought.

“Very well, soldier. Return to your ranks. Say this to no one.” He said to the man.

“Yes, General.” The man bowed and exited. Philip remained standing to the side, somewhat hesitant to interrupt Cornelius’ thinking.

“Lord Cornelius, do you think Fornalin is dead?”

Somewhat startled, Cornelius looked up. He was about to tell Philip what he really thought, that Fornalin was probably gone forever, but he did not want to spread something so disheartening to the ranks. He knew that somehow the word would leak out to the troops. And he did not dare tell Philip he did not know, for no news will automatically be assumed as bad news within a mob, so he told Philip what was best for the morale of the troops.

“I’ve known Fornalin all my life, Philip. And I know that if there is no body, then he is alive and well. Perhaps wounded in some way, but not dead. You must remember, Fornalin is a man who is known for doing the impossible, and this is hardly the impossible…difficult at best but not impossible.” Cornelius than smiled, reassuring the young man of his honesty and optimism.

“Yes my Lord. That is good to hear. Thank you.” Philip bowed and soon left Cornelius with his own thoughts in the room.

Fornalin, my brother, if you do live and breathe please return. I can not do this alone, he thought to himself before resuming his activities.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

About time too Whoopish

Nice stuff East cant wait for more.

[vovan]

Pretty nice, East... Keep 'em coming, these goods.

[Easthaven I]

Lands of Darkness

OOC: a little longish, but hey, its an epic. I'll try and get another thing up tomorrow.

=============================

The Exiled Man
April 27th, 1468AD
Some village Inn

“Fadin,” called the bartender. Fadin stopped at the call and came to him. The bartender was wiping down a cup with a stained cloth.

“What is it, Marrus?” He said. Fadin was the owner of the Inn in this village. He was young but aging by the hour. Business was slow, especially since Russians would come and go as they pleased without spending an ounce of gold or silver.

“This man at the bar, the one cloaked in black, well that’s his tenth drink and he has not paid anything.” The chubby bartender said.

“Very well. Cut him off. Don’t give him anymore unless he’s paid for the ones he’s already drank. And if he doesn’t pay, call the guards.” Fadin said.

“Yes sir.” The bartender returned to his duties.

Fadin was curious about this loner, so he decided to sit at the end of the bar and wait to see what would occur. He’s seen plenty of these kinds of men, drink ‘till they’re drunk and never pay a thing. He knew how to deal with them. If they didn’t pay in gold, they would pay in blood.

------

The cup slammed down onto the bar.

“Give me another.” Said the cloaked man in a booming authoritative voice.

“That is your tenth one, boy. You won’t get another sip of any drink from this here bar until you’ve paid your tab.” Said the bartender bravely.

The cloaked stranger sat without moving. Staring blankly at the wall on the other side of the bar.

“I have no gold to spare, my piglet of a friend. But don’t let that stop you from serving me another cup of ale.” The shadow of a man said.

The bartender rolled his eyes towards Fadin, once he heard the words “I have no gold”. Fadin, hearing this, signaled the guards as he walked a few steps closer to the man and then taking another seat at the bar, a few stools away.

Two very large men approached the man from behind. Both were bald, and wearing only black pants and black boots.

“tsk tsk tsk, I am sorry you dirty old fool. But if you can not pay in gold…well…you will have to pay in some way or another. Whether its with gold, or blood.” The bartender defiantly said, leaning towards the man. He then eyed the two guards standing on the man’s flanks.

The man again sat in stone stillness. Then a low rumbling sound came from the cloaked figure…he was laughing.

This fellow must be drunk to his very bones, thought Fadin as he watched the scene.

“Sure, you fat little frog. Since I lack your preferred currency, I will gladly pay you with blood.” The man chuckled.

Then, the cloaked stranger, with speed like a fox, struck out to the guard on his left. With one blow from his right fist he crushes the guard’s nose, sending him back into some stools. Then within the same few seconds, the shadow man elbows the guard on his right, crushing that man’s nose as well. The bartender quickly pulls back against the back wall to avoid the stranger’s wrath.

By this time, the first downed guard had regained his composure and came at the stranger who was now standing. Quickly, the stranger grabs his cup and launches it at the charging guard, striking him on his crushed nose…making him wail in pain. The shadow came on him like a panther, thrusting decisive blows into the guard’s gut and kidneys until finally the shadow man throws a final punch at the guard’s crushed nose, sending him flying onto a villager’s table.

The other large guard then tried to charge at him from behind, staying low. The stranger, somehow sensing the oncoming attack, simply grabs a nearby stool turns and swings the stool down upon the guard’s head just as he was about to leap into him. He strikes at the now downed guard several times, until finally averting his attention to two more newly arrived guards, called by Fadin.

These one’s had two large clubs in their hands, would have been swords if it weren’t for the Russians who established the law of the disarmament of all Persian citizens.

The first one came at him swinging his club wildly above his head as if it were a lasso. The stranger ducked the initial swing, then came up swinging his stool upward striking the guard under his chin. This caused the guard to chomp off his tongue. He crashed onto the floor as he yelped in pain and looked down in shock at the blood gushing from his mouth.

The final guard watched this in a state of surprise and shock. He then looked away from his partner and to the stranger whom was staring back. He lifted his club to the side of his head as he made ready to charge. The second before he did so, the stranger suddenly throws something from his cloak, it glinted of light as it flew towards the guard. He leaned back and closed his eyes, expecting death. Instead he felt something strike his club, when he opened his eyes he saw a dagger pinned to it. He felt he was being mocked. He felt a heat flash of anger, and turned to charge the stranger. When he turned he saw the man had already made his way towards him and was now a few feet away. But before the guard could react, the stranger kicked him in the groin mercilessly. The guard’s eyes bulged as he bent over. The stranger grabbed the guards head with both hands and kneed him in the nose, feeling it crush under his kneecap. The guard fell over.

The stranger grabbed the unconscious guard and began to drag him towards the bartender. He then threw the guard onto the bar. He held the man’s head in his hand as he sat at his stool. The bartender stood in shock a few feet in front, practically hugging the wall.

The stranger, Fornalin, stared at the bartender and motioned him to come. The frightful bartender hesitantly made his way forward.

Fornalin leaned forward and grabbed the bartender’s right hand and brought it under the unconscious guard’s crushed nose. The blood gushed out, and in no time a small puddle of blood formed in the cup of the bartender’s hand. He gagged and looked away, yelping like a piglet.

Fornalin then released the bartender’s hand.

“There’s your pay. Now give me my drink.” He said calmly but angrily. The bartender obeyed and soon handed Fornalin his drink.

Fornalin shoved the unconscious guard off the bar before he gulped down his eleventh cup of ale. He slammed it back onto the bar.

“Come here.” He said. The bartender again approached.

Fornalin leaned over and struck the bartender on the side of the head with the cup, knocking him over.

Everybody in the room sat silently in fearful stillness, including Fadin.

Fornalin stood and grabbed the club that had his dagger pinned to it. He grabbed the dagger and placed it in the depths of his cloak. He then made his way towards the door, club in hand. Fadin looked away as Fornalin approached him, trying to act like a normal customer.

He then felt the stool come from under him, sending him to the floor. He quickly stood, and found Fornalin standing before him.

“Your pay is back there.” Fornalin said indignantly, his eyes were holes of darkness.

“I…I…I..” Fadin stammered.

Fornalin slammed Fadin in the face with the club, cracking the Inn owner’s jaw, knocking him unconscious.

Fornalin threw the club aside as he walked out, leaving remnants of what he felt inside He had no tolerance of getting provoked whatsoever, friend and foe alike would feel his wrath if they bothered him. He wanted to be left alone, to roam as he will. And heavens forbid if he came upon a Russian, for he would be without mercy towards this unfortunate fellow.

Without Natalya, the light in Fornalin was none, only darkness flourished. He helped people all his life, without ever receiving his gift to the people in return. Betrayed by his own brothers, forsaken by his own people, he left the world to live in a secluded area where he would be with the only person who gave to him instead of taking from him. Natalya…the only one he felt he could live in paradise with, live a peaceful life with, without ever encountering another soul, for they all were corrupt in one way or another…except for his lovely Natalya. Now she was gone, as well as their son. What purpose did he have to live for now?………

[ChrisiusMaximus]

For Persia!! thats what he has to live for now, and then theres the two guys who went to seek him out originally, they were nice chaps and of course there's his old comrades, etc etc.

Oh well I suppose we will have to wait to see what is to become of poor Fornalin.

Good stuff BTW

[Easthaven I]

Lands of Darkness

OOC: by the way, like two or three past posts I screwed up on the dates(months), so I'll fix that if you actually pay any attention to the dates...
================

Message from Phyllicus
June 1st, 1468AD
Fort Trilo

Lord Cornelius stood on a hill, looking down upon the field. His army was drilling and practicing as he watched them and took notes of their mistakes or failed opportunities. New recruits came flooding in every week and at times everyday. He drilled them from dawn until the setting of the sun, and at times through the night. He forced marched them on endless miles and back again. He taught them how to harvest, how to swordfight, how to shoot a bow, ride a horse, build catapults, and much more. He taught the officers tactics and also strategy and encouraged them to take the initiative and teach their subordinates the duties of their job. He weeded out the timid and cowardice, and promoted the courageous. He judged all solely by their merit, not caring whether they were a nobleman or a simple villager or farmer. He was stern with his men but forgiving and fair. He punished the law-breakers and rewarded the disciplined. He pushed his men hard, he made them sweat blood but every soldier in his army would gladly lay down their lives for him. Through every drill or forced march Cornelius personally participated beside his men, sharing the same pain and sweating the same sweat. That is how he, Eleazer, and Fornalin trained all their lives, always leading their men from the front.

Belisarius, the most promising Immortal General, was on the field commanding his army against Cyarxes whose forces outnumbered Belisarius four to one. It was mostly maneuvering, using the cavalry arm at the best times and deciding where to fill gaps or breach them. Belisarius seemed to master the art of maneuver, his army slivered and split, pierced and enveloped.

“Belisarius is quite the artist of war, wouldn’t you say, Hasduman?” said Cornelius as he watched from afar Belisarius riding his horse throughout the ranks, yelling orders here and there.

“He is indeed, my Lord. Not like when he was younger, he was reckless then. Much patience he has obtained through the years of our separation, and yet he has gained much more talent in his aggressive actions also.” Hasduman said, he too watching the young general gallop to and fro upon his black horse.

Then a rider came upon the two Immortals and dismounted behind them before he ran to their side, letter in hand.

“Lord Cornelius,” the messenger said, “a letter from General Phyllicus in Thebes to Lord Fornalin.” He handed Cornelius an envelope.

“I shall take that. Thank you, son.” Cornelius said as he opened the letter. The messenger stood to the side, waiting for a response to send back to Phyllicus. Cornelius began to read it:



Lord Fornalin, my Captain,

As you ordered, I am here in Thebes. King Epaminondas has treated me as a true royal guest. Though, at first he was quite crude but once I told him of my purpose his manners quickly changed for the better. I could sense his elation at my offering of an alliance against the Greek city-states, but he resisted accepting and still resists. The risk is far too great for him to accept such a venture. Sparta and Athens are strong, and hold influence over the smaller city-states. He wants this alliance, he wants Thebes to be leader of Greece like it once was, his soul hungers for it, but reason restrains him. He needs assurances that we aren’t just some petty rebels. I assure you, Captain General, that if you were to acquire a decisive victory over the Russians, they would surely shift in favor of an alliance. If they could see we have the power to aid them not only by stopping Russia from aiding Greece but by actually engaging the Athenians and Spartans in battle they would surely join us in the fight. The King and I have already made plans of a war with the city-states if they were to invade Persia, but for now it is seen only as fun and games. We need a decisive victory to woo their warrior spirits into fighting alongside us. I will send another report as soon as any new information happen to cross my way. I am planning on making a quick trip to Carthage, to discuss our relations. I suggest you write Hannibal to open discussions. I hope all is going well in Persia. May our warrior ancestors march beside us in our struggle for freedom.

Lord Phyllicus



Lord Cornelius folded the paper and handed it to Hasduman. He then obtained another letter from his pocket.

“Rider, I have prepared a letter already,” he handed it to the young messenger, “take it to Phyllicus, and tell him all is well, he will have his decisive victory.”

“Yes my lord.” The messenger bowed and mounted his horse before he galloped at full trot away into the wilderness.

“How large is our army, Hasduman.” Cornelius asked as he turned back to the pretend battlefield.

“Our active army numbers 6,500 with 500 horse. We have reserve troops who are not fully trained numbering 2,800 with 1,000 horse. By winter, we should have the expected 10,000 troops with 2,000 horse, fully trained and ready for a fight. Thought at the current rate, I expect us to exceed those numbers, Cornelius. Hopefully we will have equipment for any surplus troops by then.” Hasduman informed as he stood hands behind his back, recalling these numbers from memory.

“And has the Russian prisoners been dealt with?”

“Yes, General.”

“That is good. But shadow still hangs low above our heads. We still have heard no word from Darian of the Pass of Vadela, nor have we heard from Lord Eleazer.” He paused awhile before continuing, “and we are missing our General, Hasduman,…my sworn brother.” He exhaled a tense breath.

“Soon, even the most dense of shadows must dissipate and let loose the light of reason and knowledge. Soon, Cornelius, all will reveal itself. And what needs be done will be done. What returns will return and what is victory shall be victory. You are doing your duty, it is futile to worthy over another’s duty, for only he can carry it out, not you. Do what is in your power to do, my friend.” Hasduman the oldest advised.

Cornelius sighed and released a relaxed smile.

“You are right, Hasduman. We have enough to worry about here and at the present.” Cornelius responded.

“Indeed.”

[vovan]

Interesting stuff. I like the quality and love the quantity. Keep 'em coming.

[Easthaven I]

Lands of Darkness

The Brancus’, and the rekindlement…
August 15th, 1468AD
A village south of Ergili Mountains, near Arbela

Months have gone by since the last meeting of the sun. In the land of Persia, darkness knew no bounds…it reigned during both morning and night and an ugly grey swept the land during the sun’s duty hours.

Fornalin had been wondering these grey lands for months now. This village, named Arbus, had been his stay for three weeks and one half. He talked only when necessary, mainly he kept to himself. He was staying in a lovely family’s home. They invited him one day, when the sky was unleashing its merciless rain pour and only Fornalin walked the streets alone, they called out to him and invited him in. He knew who they were for he met them on the outskirts of the village, their wagon had run into a ditch and he helped them remove it once they called to him. He knew then they were Philip’s family…the Brancus’. The widowed mother was so warm and nurturing, and her four sons were very much related to Philip, noble and good. And her daughter was a beauty, indeed. They were so trusting and welcomed him like a royal guest, and all they knew of him was that he was a traveler who had helped them with their wagon. Perhaps coincidence, maybe fate…

He paid the mother every few days, though she always reluctantly accepted it after refusing the pay several times, and he helped with the chores around the house. Even then, he did not speak much and always held a gloomy expression upon his face. He did not know why he stayed. Maybe to salvage hope in the Persian people that good and courage truly existed among the simple populace. Or maybe it was in pity that such a lovely family was strung in the middle of such a lost and costly cause. Or maybe he just needed reassurance of the cause. In either case, he was fond of the family and enjoyed watching them in their daily activities. The family was very fond of Fornalin as well and always sought his counsel, especially one of the sons. Marcus Brancus, seventeen-year-old patriot of Persia, second-oldest son of the family and at the time the man of the household.

He followed Fornalin everywhere, asking questions about his past. Fornalin did not divulge much but did tell Marcus about his past days in the army. Fornalin spoke of many things with Marcus, much more than any other civilian, for he trusted this young man for some reason. He was intelligent and cunning, completely self-taught and probably knew much of everything more than a scholar would know. This boy also seemed incorruptible, for he held his own views and was stubborn in giving them up as well as cautious when accepting another’s opinion. Also, boy was anxious to enlist into this new Persian army in the west, wanting to fight for Persia since he was but a wee little boy. His enthusiasm is the probable source of Philip’s ambition. He was also eager to seek vengeance for the death of his father. His family’s security and safety is what kept him settled there.

This day, the sky was covered in grey once again. The air was moist and the ground wet. Fornalin and Marcus were marching back from a small 2-acre of land the Brancus’ owned, checking if the soil could produce crop.

“Sir Fornalin, how was it like? War I mean.” Asked Marcus Brancus.

“Like it should be Marcus. Horrible and unforgiving…”Fornalin replied. Marcus looked away, not willing to accept it. War was supposed to be full of Glory and honor.

They entered the village and came upon a gathering in the Town Square.

“What is going on?” Fornalin asked.

“It seems to be a town meeting, Sir,” informed Marcus, “See that man there. He is the chief of this village. He calls the meetings.”

“Let us see why such a meeting was called upon,” said Fornalin.

They marched towards the crowd of people, Fornalin sat on a large rock lying against a tree. The Chief stood on a small box in front of a large oak tree, the people stood around in a semi-circle.

“As you all know, we pay a tribute to the Russians. In return, our lives are safe from death and rape. Now the time has come for us to pay them again. They are coming within two weeks.” The Chief exclaimed.

“They murder and rape even with our tribute! What is the purpose!” yelled a disgruntled villager.

“That might be so, but not to the extent they would murder and rape if we did not pay them.” The old chief sharply remarked.

“Chief,” called a lady of long age, “I have nothing to give.”

“Do not worry Miss Maden, we shall pay your share.” Answered the Chief.

“And I, Sir Chief, have but very few to give that will still keep my children from starving.” Cried out a tired widow, a smudge of dirt laid upon her brow.

“Spare what you can, my lady.” The chief somberly answered.

A few grumbles were heard as the people shuffled, digging in their pockets for extra gold or silver. Others trying to count in their heads how many bushels of wheat they could give that will leave them with enough to survive. Fornalin watched and listened, each second it infuriated his soul. Such Persians would pay tribute to a Russian scoundrel!

“And why do you pay!” He called out.

Everybody fell silent as they turned to him, a stranger under the shadows of the tree.

“Kind sir, and who might you be?” Asked the Chief.

“A Proud Persian, but such a name is not true at the moment. Why do you pay your lives away to the undeserving tyrants.” He asked again.

“So that our children may live. So that we can survive. To keep such tyrants appeased enough to let us be.” Said the Chief.

“And let you be they do not. I hear even with tribute they rape your women and murder your men. And yet you still pay.”

“Did you not hear me the first time? They might rape a few and murder some, but at least they leave us with enough to get by, rather than pillaging and plundering this whole village to destruction, like so many other villages I have come to witness.” Answered the Chief, more sharply than before, “and what have you? Tis no concern to you, stranger!”

“You give in to murderers and thieves! You appease them! Instead you should fight against them, and kill them! If you, humble villagers, were Persians, why would you sacrifice freedom and dignity for simple life of the oppressed! What Persians are you! What dignity have you left, after such humiliation!” Fornalin scolded.

“Do not judge us! You do not know! We have innocent lives to think about! Nobody can fight the Russians! Your companion there, young Marcus Brancus, his father Clorio Brancus was killed by those Russians! He had the same crazy thoughts as you, and now he leaves his wife a widow and his children fatherless! And you show up and we are obliged to throw away our lives and fight when we can not possibly win!?” The Chief yelled, angered and irritated. His face was like a cherry, his eyes bulged in desperation.

The crowd watched the debate in silence. They stood like but statues in the wind. Their heads turned to whoever spoke.

“There is no innocence. And by paying and fueling Russian strength you ensure the death of innocence for generations to come. I know what it feels like to have lost. My family murdered by these scoundrels. And selfishly I ignored my duties as a Persian and became but a hermit. But now I see my foul ways. Freedom is our natural born right from the heavens, and must be defended when threatened, and liberated when stolen. Freedom is not free, my friend. It must be fought for, and at times, blood must be shed for it. Decades have past under such cruel, unjust rule of the Czars of Russia. Persia was a great kingdom once, it is our duty as Persians to ensure the survival of our ancestors’ gift to their children…freedom and prosperous greatness. I refuse to pay tyrants, I refuse to give my freedom and I refuse to give any such possession or idea to these demons! They are not worth even the droppings of our horses! Yet we allow them to ravage our women, murder our young men and steal away our children! No more!,” he stood, his hood fell and his eyes became stern, small raindrops began to fall upon his face. “A new day has come! A day without tyranny. A day with dead Russians! We must not let this carry any further, our children’s lives depend upon our will and courage! The lives of future Persians, not yet of this world, depend upon our resolve and bravery against the demons! If I have to stand at the gates alone, and fight off the Russian hordes…alone…I will do so…not out of desperation…but for my father’s Persia. I will die with the heads of a hundred Russians laid about my corpse.” He stormed forward, parting the crowd in two as he marched towards the gate. The whole crowd was astonished. Marcus Brancus was in a trance, never did he see his guest with such vibrancy and energy. After a few seconds he realized Fornalin was walking away, he quickly followed him.

“The man is filled with lunacy. Driven mad by his vengeance for his family.” Remarked the Chief.

The people did not answer. The people did not move a muscle in their whole being. Something had occurred within them all. Perhaps a dying flame being rekindled? Perhaps something long forgotten finally remembered? Perhaps light has seeped through the darkness and hope is once again alive…

[Easthaven I]

All feedback wanted and appreciated. Both good and bad, its all cool. And thank you vovanism and Chrisius fo your continued observations...

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Yet again some great writing there East, some typos this time which is unususal for you, but nonetheless gripping stuff. Keep it coming Whoopish!!

[Easthaven I]

Thanks. Sorry about the typos. I will be more careful next time...won't happen again.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

More please!!!

[Easthaven I]

Lands of Darkness

The Soldier’s General
August 20th 1468AD
Fort Trilo

Various campfires illuminated the field around Fort Trilo. Laughter filled the air at some spots, others it would only be quiet chatter, but some groups the men would stare silently into the dancing flames. What was once a band of bandits, was now shaping into a fairly sized army led by the most elite warriors on the face of the earth.

It had been nearly half a year since Fornalin’s disappearance. Nobody spoke of it, not even Lord Cornelius, but all knew he was not with them. For a while, the morale of the men was extremely low, practically on the verge of major desertion. But a new leader took the reigns. A leader the soldiers of Persia always had but whom led silently to the side under the shadow of Persia’s greatest general. General Cornelius Valen was their leader. For over 6 months he trained them, and he trained with them. He constantly visited the troops on the ground and chatted among them…becoming one of them. Through the sorrow for a missing king they found reassurance through a soldier’s general.

General Cornelius was seated at one of the campfires, General Hasduman at his side. For hours he chatted with the soldiers present. Then as the soldiers began discussing and joking among themselves, thus leaving the General ‘out of the loop’, he turned to Hasduman…

“So what is our current standing, my friend?” He asked. His face hard and decisive, he was now confident and fully capable of leading an army…the only army…without Fornalin.

“Captain General, the last count I have taken reached 8,550 men, not including the 400 Immortals. All have proper equipment of an infantry soldier, with various missile weapons such as the spear and bow. Of those 8,550, 2,000 are cavalry. Of those 2,000, 1,000 are heavily armored and talented, while the other 1,000 is lightly armored and more of a harassing element. They are all loyal, solid, and disciplined. Cornelius, you have trained them well…very well.” He patted Cornelius on the shoulder, “Fornalin would be very proud indeed.”

Cornelius smiled in a sort of relief. He looked into the old man’s green eyes, which looked like the eyes of a young man, quick and full of energy. It contrasted fully with his leathery face layered by a roughly shaved beard and topped by loose longish grey hair. Cornelius thought silently about the age of Hasduman, the only Immortal who actually looked old. All he knew of Hasduman was he was Fornalin’s grandfather’s bodyguard who was King Falikus, many many years ago.

“Thank you, old friend. You have lightened my spirit greatly.” Cornelius returned the pat on the shoulder.

“General.” Came a call from behind. Cornelius turned and there stood Philip Brancus, two cups of ale in hand. “Here, have a drink.”

“Thank you, Philip.” Cornelius said as he sipped his cup. Philip sat down to the right of Cornelius, sipping from his own cup.

“Philip, I’m hearing you are turning into quite a swordsmen.” Cornelius smiled.

“I think so. I would like to think I could do better now against Fornalin, much better then our last clash of swords together.” Philip said as he rotated the cup in his hands.

“You had a sword fight against Fornalin?” Cornelius asked, trying to imagine such an amusing event.

“If that’s what you would call it. Me and Pavil both, with beautiful shortswords, against Fornalin. But he was not human with a sword in hand. He became something of a spirit…a god. And he only showed us the smallest fraction of a fraction of his talent and even then we were awestruck. And his sword was ridden with rust and chips, the blade was duller than a hammer, yet he handled it with the finesse of an eagle in flight. He made me yearn for that sword yet it wasn’t the sword that made him so good, it was him! He would have probably done as good with a feather…” Philip became entranced with the flames of the campfire as he remembered that morning at the Varha home, when he had lost all hope and was filled with desperation.

“Haha. I would have loved to see such an event. Yes yes…Fornalin is quite the swordsman.” Cornelius too began staring into the flames, remembering the old days and his own admiration and awe at the sight of Fornalin in the middle of a fight in his prime of swordplay. “He is also great with the bow, spear, daggers…he is good at it all. The greatest warrior the land of Persia has ever bore.” He looked up into the sky as he began to feel the feeling of sorrow creeping into the crevices of his hardened soul. “Many great warriors are Immortals, Philip, but most were trained that way or made that way…Fornalin I believe was born that way. My father once told me ‘Of every One-Hundred men, ten shouldn’t even be there, Eighty are nothing but targets, Nine are real fighters…We are lucky to have them…they make the battle. Ah, but the One, One of them is a Warrior…and He will bring the others back.’…. Philip, Fornalin is that one, but not out of a hundred, but of a million. He, my young patriot, made us all.”

Philip looked at the General. He saw true compassion, a tear nearly fell from his grey eye, but his will would not allow it. Fornalin and Cornelius may not be brothers through blood, but in spirit nothing was more brotherly, he thought to himself.

“Yes…my lord.”

=====

OOC: I wrote this kinda quickly cuz I was in a quick mood and it's late. Still no fighting, 'tis a true epic. More character development and such. If you don't like the pace...well let me know... All comments of any sort wanted and appreciated! Sorry about taking so long and absence from the stories forum, I got lazy and busy, not a good combo. Tell me what you like, dislike etc. I gotta start catching up on my reading of the stories here...

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Good stuuf East, glad to see youre continuing with this masterpiece. There's nothing I dislike about this as I have told you many tomes, but IMHO I would like to see Fornalin return tp his comrades in time to lead alongside his trusted friend Cornelius in the upcoming battles to be fought.

Great story please dont stop.

[Matthijs]

Yep, great story