Guppy Franz
Guppy was here!
Prologue
The Coming Storm
The Coming Storm
The 41st anniversary of Eswen’s foundation has just passed, being celebrated throughout the kingdom. All its citizens, rich or poor, were given plenty of food and drink to indulge in thanks to a successful year of trade and harvest. By some fortunate grace, its borders remained silent, giving its armies a well-deserved chance of rare rest and relaxation. Many saw it as a blessing of God, while others were to marry to care and instead basked in the uncommon moment of peace. Two months have passed since this celebration though, and this silence along the borders has remained. In fact, all of Malveir has been uncommonly still. No news of conflicts, no reports of outside army’s on the march, and the raiding tribes to the South not even leaving their deserts. For the citizens of Eswen, this would be considered a good thing, but for those in power and Eswen soldiers, it has been an unnerving silence hanging over them. A sense of unease and tense anticipation has spread throughout the ranks of the army, even its many generals growing impatient for the disruption of this unnerving peace. Several patrols along its borders have been doubled, the number of soldiers raised for a sudden attack and kept on the constant lookout for activity.
The neighboring ally kingdoms near the Southern borders have also reported no signs of Orc and Ogre raiding parties, not even seeing the occasional scouting groups that frequently slither near their borders to probe their defenses. Lilymor, the closest to both the Southern and Eastern borders, has also reported no activity from both the Southern tribes and the Dark Elves. To the Eastern Forest where the Elven and Fae kingdoms reside, word has arrived that even their borders are still as a grave, the Dark Elves uncharacteristically absent from their usual scheming tricks to drive themselves deeper into Elven and Fae territory. The eldest of Fae have however sensed an unmistakable disturbance within the forest, a faint sense of twisted magic on the rise from the Undead kingdoms. To the North, word has spread from the traveling merchants that the Dwarves have sealed themselves into their great mountain fortresses, refusing to allow the usual wave of outside merchants into their great cities and abruptly ceasing any further trade with Eswen and its allies. No reason for this strange and sudden act is known and has only caused a greater sense of unease to spread through those in power as to having lost an abundant source of goods and minerals from the north.
With the Eswen armies on alert, several large patrols survey the edges of the border day after day. One such patrol is being led by Lieutenant Speirs under the command of General Carter. Speirs and his force of a hundred and fifty strong have been tasked with patrolling the lower border lines near Chiren, made up of light and heavy infantry, archers, and a handful of light cavalry. A few miles away from their patrol route is a town called Aramoor at the edge of the border just a day's travel away from the line separating Eswen and Chiren. Famous for their well-bred warhorses, Aramoor holds great importance to the military for their supply of strong and healthy steeds. Aramoor however has failed to supply the recent order of horses and has been silent for the past week. Impatient and concerned, the higher-ups have deemed it fit to pay the town a welfare check. With General Carter and his main force spread along the surrounding borders, Spiers and his troops have been assigned to extend their patrol route to Aramoor and make contact with the local conscripted militia stationed in the town. Unfortunately for Spiers and his troops, they would be the first among many near the borders to face the coming storm threatening Eswen and the West.
The rhythmic sound of a hundred boots beating along the dirt roads that ran through the open plains filled the hot summertime air, the mix of loose armor or gear clunking about being the only addition to the rhythmic thumping of the long column of soldiers as they marched in unison together. Barely an hour or so after dawn, the sun was already glaring down onto the poor souls below without mercy, the muggy conditions of the air only adding a further insult. Among the rows of soldiers, men and women of all races suffered the brutal heat together. What made it even worse was the fact that everyone knew they were in for a longer day than usual, being given a new mission that would take them far off their usual patrol route and that they would have to double back afterward to finish their original route. Grumbles and frustrated mutters were scattered among the troops, their displeasure in the extra add onto their workload clear. For two long months, they have been doing the same thing, marching, scouting, and more marching. It has been almost mind-numbing with the spread of boredom and the creeping sense of unease that has slipped through the ranks. The only one who seemed to march on without issue was the Lieutenant that led this column of soldiers from the very front. Lieutenant Speirs walked on foot like the many troops behind him, his usual hum of some random tune hearable for those closest to him.
Trotting along both the flanks of the column were four horsemen on both sides, cladded in light leather armor, iron helmets that covered their faces, and carrying long wooden lances with arming swords or maces at their belts. Towards the front of the column being led by Spiers were over fifty heavy infantry troops, their weapons ranging from halberds to shields and swords, axes, or maces. Finally, towards the back, made of a more diverse mix of troops and races, were the lighter units, seventy light footmen, and thirty archers. The light footmen were clad in leather armor and iron helmets strapped to the top of their heads, and an open range of different weapons like hammers, swords, shields, axes, and spears. Finally, with the archers, they were also clad in leather armor with blue and white hoods, bows, short swords, maces, and axes. Luckily for all of the troops, the Lieutenant had splurged a bit of his monthly pay for newer gear and repairs after seeing that the state of his troop's equipment had grown worse for wear. The unit was grateful for Spier's generous act, most among the ranks holding their Lieutenant in high regard.
Toward the center of the column along with the light footmen marched Pierce, his fellow squad mates at his side as they followed behind Sergeant Stone, the leader of their team. A long sigh escaped him as he slightly loosened the strap to his helmet and wiped away a layer of sweat from his face with his gloved hand. Even after nearly a decade of marching in temperatures like this, maybe even worse, he couldn’t ever get used to the brutal summer heat. He’d much rather face a rabid Ogre in a blizzard in nothing but his underwear than march in this heat any longer. The one saving grace he had at his disposal though was attached to his belt. Reaching down and unclipping his flask from his belt, Pierce twisted the top off and brought it to his lips, a cool liquid touching his lips before a strong yet satisfying burning ran down his throat as he took a sip. Spiced rum is truly a blessing from God himself to his loyal servants.
“I hope that’s water this time Shilbrouk,” a familiar cold voice said, making Pierce nearly sputter out the cool liquor in surprise. Glancing forward he met the icy gaze of Sergeant Stone as she glanced over her leather padded shoulder, staring suspicious daggers at him. It wasn’t the first time Pierce had been caught by his sergeant for drinking on the job. It was the only rule he would push. A few surrounding soldiers and officers from different teams seemed to be curious about his slip-up, Pierce spotting a few smirks and grins from other troops from the corner of his view. With a quick cough to clear his throat gave a firm nod.
“Of course ma'am,” he replied quickly, maybe too quickly. She arched a brow and flicked her gaze to the flask in his hands.
“Really now?” she questioned before returning her gaze to his and outstretching her gloved hand his way. “Care to share then? I seemed to have forgotten my canteen at the main camp,” she requested with a frown. Somehow Pierce felt like he was sweating even more now, his eyes flickering to the flask in his gloved hand and back to the sergeant before him.
“Um, I wouldn’t recommend it, ma’am. It's… um,” he paused for a moment, distracted for a moment from the surrounding eyes of his fellow soldiers waiting in anticipation for his excuse. Bastards. “Sewage… water,” he slowly replied, mentally cringing at his choice of an answer. A few of the troops snickered or rolled their eyes at the ridiculous reply.
“Sewage water? Really now Shilbrouk? Out here so far from civilization?” she said dryly, her face falling flat as she saw through the stupid lie. Pierce let out a small sigh, shaking his head.
“Spiced rum ma’am,” he answered honestly in defeat. Stone rolled her eyes and shook her head before looking forward.
“Put it away. You’ll receive a day of latrine duty,” she decided with a firm tone. Pierce held back a groan and instead, let out a breath through his nose as he closed his flask and clipped it back to his belt.
“Yes ma’am,” he replied in defeat. A chuckle came to his left from an older archer, his crooked amused smile missing a few teeth.
“Nice try lad, but the Ice maiden isn’t that daft,” the gray-haired man said in a hushed voice, making sure Stone couldn’t hear the nickname given to her by the common troops. Pierce rolled his eyes and adjusted his grip on the wooden shield at his side. The Ice maiden was definitely fit for her, but even so, she was his superior. Even if she did lack the experience he did in the army, she still deserved his respect as his commanding officer.
“Ey, at least ya didn’t get extra guard duty tonight,” another footman from behind said, Pierce looking back to see an exhausted soldier with heavy bags under his eyes. Many among the ranks were in similar states, including Pierce himself. With the past two months being so inactive many of the soldiers have become restless, unable to get a full night's sleep or any at all. Pierce gave a short huff and rubbed the bags under his own eyes, just realizing how heavy his eyelids were.
“Not like I get much sleep anyways,” he muttered before a murmur of agreement surrounded him. It was an odd feeling, being so restless because of no invaders on their borders threatening their lands. Pierce even felt a bit guilty as he would hope for an attack. But things have never been this quiet before, there has always been something happening. The itch to dive into battle frustrated Pierce, having no source other than some light sparing back at the main camp, but that wasn’t enough. He rotated his tense shoulders and cracked his stiff neck, forcing his mind to return to the present and march on with the force with the promise of a long day ahead of them.
