Into the Frozen North

[Richter Abend]

After an adequate night of rest after a long an hard battle, Richter sat atop his marching horse as both his rebel forces and the forces of Ilia led by his cousin Marle marched towards Edessa, the diplomatic capital of Ilia. Due to all of the current strife in the land of his birth, the rebel commander was a bit wary of the march, not too keen on being ambushed by barbarians, but figured a force as large as their joint army wouldn't be easy prey for the Etrurian led brigands.

When they reached Edessa, Richter would attempt to appeal to the Ilian leaders for forces to help fight the Prophet. He needed the men, and Ilia needed his help. He hoped they would take his offer. What was there not to like? They gave him military support and he would use that to put down the rebellion as well as taking the fight to Etruria. Plus, fighting under his flag had certain advantages for the assaulted country.

Amidst the marching soldier, the pink haired Ilian rode his horse over to his cousin.
"Marle," he began, "it has been quite awhile since I've broached Ilia's borders, so I don't have much knowledge of the rebellion." He looked towards the mountains far in the distance. "Do you have any suggestions on the route to take? Paths of safer travel and such?"

[Tuatara 'Tut' Yamen]

OoC: I didn't think the rebellion had made it to Ilia yet...

IC: Tuatara was clueless as usual. All he knew, was that some Ilians showed up, and then they were off to fight off some rebellion. But Tuatara wasn't very good with politics, besides the fact of his ignorance of the world. So he walked next to Aeros and began to ask questions.

"What are we doing?" he asked. "More fighting? Rebellion? Ilia? Armor-lady? Where's Wing-man? Pink-haired-man? Whats going on? Why is this in my pocket?" He said the later while pulling Aeros' dragonstone from his pocket.

[Aeros]

Finally, they were on a path. Battles were well and good, but for Aeros—in human form now, or what passed for human—they had sickened, soured. Once something that required no thought, only distracting action, combat had provided an escape from the manakete’s torn consciousness. Now they were only a way for things he couldn’t remember to tantalize him; while everyone around him had a cause, a reason to fight, he did so because he had no reason to do anything else.

But now something had changed; the appearance of Marcus, or “Marchamut” as he had recalled himself, had sparked something. It could hardly be called a memory so much as an impression. A voice that was so familiar…the name that now taunted him, so fleeting but so crucial…and…pain? The last seemed to be something entirely different, yet somehow there was a connection…

”Sir Aeros? Is there something wrong?” At first the dragon thought Rayl had somehow looped around behind him, but no, this was an entirely different soldier, younger, maybe, although age only meant something to Aeros as it happened, not as it was. Rayl had left, with Aeros deciding to go with the other band of soldiers.

Who was it that started calling me that? Rayl, of course; that had been why he had immediately thought of the paladin. “No,” he replied. “I have…things to think about, that’s all.” Part of him wanted desperately to move away from the man, but this only made him hold his ground harder. He would conquer this ridiculous remnant of his captivity. All these years, the bandits were gone, and, by Elimine if need be, he would…

”Well, if that’s it, then I’ll leave you to it,” the soldier replied agreeably. ”I guess we all have our things to think about. Commander Abend defeated one of the High Commanders, after all! And now we have two dragons with us, to boot! Never thought I’d…” The rest faded as the soldier moved away, muttering and shaking his head.

Just before he could return to pointless, frustrating confusion, Aeros was interrupted again. The next offender, however, was less obtrusive and a bit more helpful. In fumbling for something, Tuatara—there was no doubt it was Tuatara, with his limitless supply of random object—had dropped a torn sheet of paper. Picking it up had an almost instant effect: the words inscribed on it came in two forms, one of which Aeros subconsciously and instinctively shifted to match the other.

The paper read, “Reork Solwing”.

”Why do you have to leave, Eryk? I keep hearing your father did something, but could it really be so bad?”
”It’s…complicated, Reork. Marcus and I just need to leave for a while.
“’It’s complicated’? I was hoping I would never hear you try that one. And who’s Marcus?”
“Marchamut, my brother. I’ve told you about him before. Don’t do this, Reork. You’ve never whined at me like this.”
“I’ve never had the only teacher that takes me seriously try to brush me off with ‘It’s complicated’.”
“Don’t even worry about it. We should only be gone for a few years, a blink of an eye. We’ll be back sometime…

Of course…neither of the two had returned. Marcus—Marchamut—had disappeared, and…Eryk...proclaimed dead. Aeros—Reork, that really was his name—had spent so long planning to see the world Eryk had seen, maybe find why the outside world could be such an inviting retreat from an event never explained to him. The Dragonkin Elders had forbidden leaving the city unless banished or a special request from Athos; of course, the sage had conveniently disappeared as well. Some even thought the ancient man had spirited Marcus away, but why leave the ravaged human body behind? That and Eryk’s…corpse, whose funeral rites the legendary hero would be sure to honor.

Yes, that had been another part of the plan, finding this mysterious Athos. And when the escape had finally been performed…

Freedom at last! That had been the cry of Reork’s mind as he finally left the magical walls, using a simple trick—why hadn’t he thought of it before!—that allowed for easy passage under the “watchful” guards at the wall.

A roar from above…a massive beast, glad in golden scales, far more than a match for the combat techniques young, inexperienced Reork had been taught…

The flashes stopped. Aeros or Reork or whatever his name was realized he now stood doubled over, falling well behind the main group. A familiar soldier again stood over him, panic on his open-mouthed face as he glanced frantically between the manakete and the retreating backs of the combined armies. Just as he finally decided to scream out an alert, the dragon grasped the man’s arm weakly. “Hold on, I-I’ll be fine.” The words were a bit of a convoluted half-truth at that particular moment. Aeros blinked; the burn this caused showed he hadn’t done so during his entire fit.

”Sir Aeros! I’m sorry I didn’t act sooner, I was just going through the events of the last few days, well, I guess you were, too, and, well, I wasn’t expecting…you suddenly keeled over, sir, and…” Reork/Aeros’ sudden bout of laughter interrupted the mortified ramblings.

The phrase “keeled over” and the image of anyone in Sir Rayl’s army—especially the paladin himself—using it had done the deed. The insanity of the image was too much. “I’m sorry, there’s…” No, he didn’t want to or need to explain. “There’s a long story behind that. Just go on, I’ll be fine.”

Apparently, the soldier himself had at least subconsciously realized his unprofessional choice of words, as he snapped a quick, ”Sir!” and floundered to the proceeding company, eyes muddled and face red. Others ahead had noticed their missing companion; they glanced back occasionally before and as the story was retold. The manakete neither noticed nor cared.

He remembered. That mattered more.

Then again, several memories remained locked. Everything before Eryk’s departure—aside from their combat training, obviously—rested in the darkness, still unmoved.

But he had memories! Life before his captivity now had depth, meaning. Naturally, the gold dragon’s attack would have happened immediately before Aeros found himself in the desert. It had probably been the cause of his amnesia, perhaps even intentionally.

A thought appeared, stilling the muddled swarm of excited thoughts: what did it change? Richter, Rayl…everyone he now knew still had a war to fight. Was now any time to leave them? Should he?

Isn’t this what you wanted, though? some part of him asked. And it was true. Why see the world alone, what better way to know it than to find what made it worthwhile in the first place? He had found Marcus, he could someday even see what it was the golden dragon had wanted so much to protect. The best part would be fighting because he believed in it! The battlefield would stop being an escape, and become a true clash to determine the will that would win.

With a half-smile on his face—he remembered, too, wondering why his own emotions seemed to filter through while others, like Eryk, had shown everything like the Beacon of Athos—Reork rushed back into the group, slowing once he had rejoined it.

To begin with, he would give Tuatara the paper and retrieve his dragonstone. Meeting the other manakete could wait, not too long, but not until they could have an honest talk. It would be a conversation to look forward to.

((Notes: I made up Athos’ Beacon—I imagine it as the focal point for the spell that shields Arcadia—and assumed a tribe of dragons would be ruled by Elders. That’s about it, besides taking some liberties with Eryk’s personality.))

[Clair Feldsky]

OoC: Is there a difference between Arphen, and Edessa?

BiC:

Clair rode along, only a few steps away from Commander Richter. Corona, her pegasus, stepped proudly along, wings folded contentedly in the common sacaen winds. Despite all the action recently, he seemed to be in top shape... though his small rider had noticed that he'd seemed to have started getting a little overweight recently. All the grain he was getting, as well as the browsing the grass of the plains at every unoccupied moment, was spoiling him. Gonna have to cut you back, Big Boy. Can't have you getting fat, she thought, as she patted him on his shoulder.

Ahead, Clair could see the plains giving way to the jagged walls that blocked their path into Illia. She'd passed through those mountains on several occasions before. Once was on a trip with a merchant caravan, heading to Bulgar, Sacae, and back. She'd barely had any training at the time. It was a trip specifically designed to let her see more of the world, in a low risk environment. The last time she'd passed those walls, she'd been a mere squire, seeking to forge ahead; to form a path towards experience. She'd never have expected to be swept up in events like she had. Technically, she was still a squire, unrecognized for her talents by Illia's trainers... But now she was coming to the realization that she no longer relied on what they said. She had more important things to worry about than being formally raised to knighthood, like helping lead a war effort.

Even so she couldn't help but be a little eager at returning. She'd left as barely more than a trainee. She would return as a much more accomplished pegasus rider. It'd be nice to be formally recognized as a knight. Maybe she could talk Richter into writing up a recommendation. She'd heard of things like that happening before. Maybe she would see her own family. Clair knew her parents would be proud of her, and she was even tempted to challenge her mother, Hera Feldsky, to an aerial sparring match. Surely, she'd at least manage to score a blow on the more experienced falcoknight....

Of course that was assuming they had any time when they got to Illia. She was beginning to notice that things didn't seem to stay quiet for long when Richter was involved.

She heard him speaking, and was suddenly reminded of what she knew about his past. Illia was not a place filled with happy memories for him, as it was for her. She'd have to make a point to remain sensitive to him in their dealings. The loss of his family was a tragic thing to suffer.

She wasn't quite sure on which rebellion Richter was speaking of, even if the question wasn't directed at her. Truth was, she knew little to nothing about their situation in Bern. Only a few weak rumors. "Commander, I'm sorry, are you speaking of the rebellion in Bern, or of the agents Etruria sent to our home?"

[Richter Abend]

OoE: Well FE6 stated that Edessa was the Ilian capital and the center of the mercenary knights and whatnot, but RP deigns Arphen as the center of the military forces, so I'm adapting.

Richter turned to look at Clair as he continued to ride next to his assistant officer.
"Etruria's movement in Ilia is what I was referencing, Feldsky," he said quietly. "I see it as a rebellion considering that Etruria is using natives, albeit barbaric natives, of Ilia to do their dirty work. They have to be holding some sort of carrot on a stick. It's frustrating to say the least." Richter shook his head. "Not only are they using almost none of their own resources, but they have the advantage of having a force that knows the mountains like the know the back of their hand."

"As a native Ilian," continued the commander, "you'd think I'd be at less of a disadvantage but I haven't been back to my birth country in years. I feel like I'm up against a wall that I created myself, a stranger in my native land."

[Mavick]

Mavick let out a long, cloudy breath as he readjusted his robes, which appeared to have now doubled in layers. "This cold is awful." he commented to no one in particular, rubbing his gloved hands together. The little tactitian rode at the back of Richters little posse of important people, on a pony (For he was too short to properly ride a horse) he had successfully obtained in a trade with some nomads before leaving Sacae. He found it was much more comfortable than riding on his brothers armored shoulders. Still, he found himself missing the overgrown lout.

"The Prophet is a genius." He announced out of the blue. He didn't explain himself all at once, which allowed time for the others to give him funny looks. "Bern is rebelling against their Illian masters. Etruria is employing Illian brigands to assault their own country. Ostia, the military leader of Lycia, destroyed. The Sacaens hounded by 'missionaries', unable to gather together for war. All of Elibe is falling apart, and the only stable government at the moment is in Etruria, due in part by the Prophets meddling in other countries." Mavick rubbed his temples in thought. "But maybe, just maybe..." The shaman muttered, before going silent. What was he up too now?

[Clair Feldsky]

"Even if you've not been there Richter, the name "Abend" still carries weight with many people. Besides, if we move forward carefully, the dragons, and myself should be able to units should be able to scout out the brigands well enough." Clair wondered what sort of welcome they'd get from Illia while she rode on thoughtfully. "All we need is a direction."

"The Prophet is a genius." Clair turned her head, listening to Mavick's analysis. What he said... well, she'd never really considered just how widespread the world's chaos was. Could he be involved in all of it? It was a disturbing thought. His armies had attacked Ostia, it was his missionaries in Sacae, his agents in Illia... Could he have his fingers in Bern as well? If he could manipulate nations like that, how could they stop him?

She hoped that freeing Illia of the Prophet's influence would be enough to give them the strength to resist him. But how to go about doing that? Rooting out all the bandits in Illia would be too time consuming, and nearly impossible anyway.

Another of Sacae's breezes puffed her hair away from her face, forcing her to settle it back into place as she spoke to anyone in the general area. "Could we find a way to discredit the Etrurian leadership? Would that even be enough?"

[Richter Abend]

Richter too was interested by Mavick's assessment of the chaos that plagued Elibe. The pink haired commander had never really thought how involved the Prophet was, and when Mavick pointed it out, it only made their goal seem that much larger, but also that much more important. He wasn't fighting for any single country, or just against the Prophet. He was fighting to free his world from a future like his past.

"It's true, the Prophet is a genius," replied Richter with a small sigh, "but even geniuses can be pulled down from their thrones. His influence over other governments makes us all the more necessary. If he meddles in other countries, we have to destroy him at the source." He turned to Clair. "I don't think discrediting the Etrurian leadership would be enough. These barbarians probably have a bone to pick with the Ilian leaders anyways, so all Etruria is doing is spurring a movement that just needed a kick in the pants to get moving." Richter nodded as a wind from the snowy foothills came and whipped his hair around his face. "But you're right, the Etrurian leaders are our priority. If we take them out the barbarians will have little in the way of leadership and the whole rebellion would probably fall apart at the seams. It wouldn't be hard for the Ilians to mop up afterward."

[Clair Feldsky]

"...It wouldn't be hard for the Ilians to mop up afterward."

Clair noticed how he called there homeland Illians, as if they themselves were not. It wasn't hard for her to understand. More and more, she was feeling committed to Richter's Army, even at the cost of her homeland. Maybe all trainees who joined a foreign group began to feel like this. Maybe that was part of the reason they left at all: to test their loyalty.

No one else seemed to be speaking, but Clair's mind was still turning. What would the barbarians be trying to accomplish? What was their goal? The Etrurian agents would simply be trying to draw as much attention with as little loss as possible. They wanted to disrupt the country. That meant passes through the mountains, mines, and whatever else was deemed important could be a potential target. Probably some of the villages too.

"Hmm... Drawing them out may be more difficult than I'd hoped. I can't see brigands attacking a force like this one."

[Marcus]

Marcus had been quietly listening a short way behind Richter, when the short, purple man's comment stirred something in his brain. The Prophet a genius? Of course, why didn't I see it before? His timing is flawless. Hell, if it weren't for great warriors like Richter, he probably would have succeeded by now. Then, Marcus moved forward and joined the conversation. "Perhaps these rebellions are merely a facade meant to draw our attention from the Prophet. After all, who knows what he's scheming right now?"

[Richter Abend]

Richter's gaze shot to Marcus.
"Perhaps he is planning something, but knowledge of his secret plans would require intel that we don't have." The pink haired commander shook his head, slowly rocking side to side on his mount as the army marched through the snowy foothills leading into Ilia. "We have no way of knowing what he is up to. All we can do is fight against the sword that we can see so we don't end up running in circles going after the hidden dagger that we can't, and ultimately end up getting stabbed anyways."

The ex-mercenary addressed his assistant officer.
"Drawing out the barbarians would be pointless. They aren't the real threat and we'd be wasting precious resources fighting them for the sake of it. It's more lethal to go straight for the heart. We need to locate Etruria's local base of operations before we make our move." Richter shook his head and sighed.

He gazed back at his soldiers. They were tired and worn from the battles they had endured and as their commander he sympathized, but they couldn't afford to slow down now. Considering time was of the essence, he'd rather fight the enemy head on as he was used to, but the Prophet wasn't giving them that pleasure. Clever bastard. They may have struck a powerful blow in Sacae, but without the proper support, the fledgling rebel group would be crushed before they could truly begin.

[Tuatara 'Tut' Yamen]

Tuatara watched his best friend fall to the ground. Oh no! Heart burn! Wait, what if he has indigestion? Heart attack? Bowl movement? Oh no, not a bowl movement! And a coronary? At the same time?

"Help, help!" he called out, running circles. "Aeros is under attack! His innards will come out his bum! Help, help! His chest is on fire!"

What to do, what to-pink-haired guy! Tuatara thought, swerving mid-circle toward the front lines. "Aeros is dieing! Help, help! Pink-haired-guy! Purple-man! Wing-man! Pony-girl! Armor-person! Help, he-OOH, A COIN!"

He picked up a shiny object from the ground. Holding it up, he realized it was just a broach. Cool. "Wait, what was I doing?" Tuatara mumbled to himself. He turned and saw his friend. "Something about his bum...oh I know, he passed gas. That's right. So I was going to Wing-man."

Once he figured out what was going on, he called to Aeros,"Come on, lets go talk to Wing-man." Of course, by talk he meant lets go say hi and steal his dragonstone, but hey, Tuatara had a different definition for everything.

[Clair Feldsky]

"Perhaps these rebellions are merely a facade meant to draw our attention from the Prophet. After all, who knows what he's scheming right now?"

Clair heard Marcus speak up as he approached. She agreed with him, nodding her head silently. While the rebellions could do significant damage on their own given time, the chief danger was that they took the world's eyes away from the Etrurian's current imperialistic tendencies.

There was some noise coming from somewhere in the back, as she listened to her Commander speak, but that seemed to subside fairly quickly.

"Commander? What if there is no central location. Bandit camps may be hosting small groups of Etrurian sympathizers, and be supplying themselves as they always do. From what the Lance-Captain said, there's been an increase in bandit activities. Maybe this is not only because of Etrurian encouragement, but because they need more resources."

The idea made sense to her. Certainly, bandit's would raid, but maybe they needed to raid more now, in order to support larger numbers. Who knew how many forces they would have to deal with in Illia. She didn't like the lack of information they had, and hunting through the wilderness with an army would be nearly impossible, especially considering the illian snowy wastes, but she had faith in their ability to find a way. She'd gained confidence in her own abilities, but there was more than that. Richter Abend's sword had inspired their small, worn army to great victories, and Mavick's advice and support had guided them along that same path to victory. The people in this army had shown that they could take victory, even when the odds were stacked against them. Together, they would find a way to make it work.

[Fran]

Fran decided to go with Marcus, as long it was fun she was willing to go anywhere. And of course she did it because she wanted to spend more time with her childhood friend, Marcus surely had changed much in this 500 years. She noticed that people here was soldiers, and few of them were injured.

Fran had never seen a war before, the blood in their armors and bandages wrapping their wounds made her feel weird just by looking at them. She tried to walk as close as possible to Marcus, he was the only one she knew here.

Then she saw Marcus talked with a pink haired man. "Hmm, a man with pink hair?" Of course she was talking about Richter, pink haired person was rare these days. The ice dragon didn't want to disturb their conversation so she didn't say anything and just stared at the rebel commander...his hair actually.

[Mavick]

Mavick rubbed his temples, feeling a migraine coming on."This is all too perplexing." he complained. "But Officer Feldsky is right, there is a strong possibility that these bandits are not organized." he lamented. "Perhaps this isn't the best time for a discussion about what the Prophet is planning. We should continue this conversation after we've stopped for camp. That will give me enough time to think about the mess we are in."