An Unlikely Leader (LCO)

[Wein Lowell]

Wein yawned as he looked down at the parchment that littered his desk, his eyes following the shadows, cast by flickering candlelight, that danced across their surfaces. He’d been pouring over dossiers and maps all night, trying to formulate something resembling a battle-plan to kick off their counter offensive. The last thing he wanted to do was walk into the war room tomorrow an empty handed fool, but even after hours of study and planning, Wein didn’t feel like he was making any progress whatsoever.

Because truthfully, what did Wein Lowell of Ostia know about war? He’d read books about tactics and strategy, and the memoirs of famous knights and generals, but he’d never been in an army himself. He’d fought bandits, saved villages, and hell, even escaped from Etrurian captivity, but he’d never been on an actually battlefield, fighting an actual battle. He’d read books about the day to day life of soldiers, how commanders organized their men, but Wein had never actually had to lead soldiers before.

The archer leaned back in his chair. He knew full well Marquess Laus was using him as a figurehead, as a way to legitimize the Laus power base by having an actual Ostian noble commanding some of his men, and truthfully Wein really didn’t mind. But he felt woefully under-equipped for the job, and he didn’t want to just be an ornament in the war room.

The tired Ostian sighed, closing his eyes and letting his arms rest on the edge of the table. Niew would have been great at this. Why hadn’t he been the brother that survived? He knew he shouldn’t but sometimes Wein felt guilty that he had been the one away from Ostia that day. If the roles had been switched, then perhaps his far more capable brother would be sitting here right now.

“Man, what am I going to do?” he muttered to himself.

[Donovan]

Donovan walked up the stairs to the young lord’s room. The torches on the walls flickering wildly as he passed thanks to Fragarach’s presence. The mercenary couldn't quite wrap his head around how a sword so determined to be held by a hero had chosen him. He was a mercenary. A liar. He had gotten friends and family killed. Donovan was no hero.

He’d heard whisperings of a Lycian Counter Offensive beginning to rise, to take the fight to Etruria. Of course, after what had happened to his mother, Donovan was going to help fight the Holy Land in any way that he could. But there was something he had to do. There was more that he could do. She was out there. Donovan could find her.

The mercenary was certain that an outright offensive would only end poorly for Lycia without a good amount of preparation. He knew how dangerous and vast Etruria’s spy network was. Someone needed to take care of those operatives before any strategy would ever be successful. But that wasn’t Donovan’s job. He was just another hired sword. Sure his sword was an ancient, magical weapon, but he didn’t even know how to use it completely. Which was why he was so confused why Wein, a nobleman of Ostia, wanted to see him.

The raven haired mercenary approached the door and nodded briefly at the guards, acting the stuffy lord. They pushed open the door and Donovan walked into the room. There were maps and files littered about the place and the young lord was leaning back in his chair, apparently exhausted. The man hadn’t seemed to notice Donovan was in the room with him.”Well, if you're serious about winning this war, you’re going to take care of the problems in Lycia before trying anything against in Etruria.” The mercenary leaned against a desk and rubbed the back of his neck. “That… probably isn’t my place. Sorry. What did you need to see me for, my lord?”

[Wein Lowell]

“No, no, I appreciate the advice,” Wein said, turning his attention to the doorway. Good. It hadn’t taken too long for the attendants to retrieve Donovan. “I need all I can get, frankly. I’m in way over my head.” The archer shook his head then put his face in his hands, slowly exhaling outwards. He took a moment to collect himself, then looked back up at his guest. “A family name does not a leader make.”

“Donovan, you were the first to arrive at the recruiters when we first put out the notice that Marquess Laus was building a counter-offensive,” Wein noted as he picked up his chair and turned it towards the mercenary standing in his doorway. Noticing that Donovan was still standing, the Ostian motioned to another chair just a few feet away. “Please, sit,” he said in a polite tone before weaving his fingers together and placing them in his lap.

“Tell me more about yourself,” the archer continued, an inquisitive look on his face. The question was genuine. Wein was the kind of man who wanted to know about the people who had chosen to follow him, mostly because he had a hard time believing anyone would. A hero he strived to be, but “leader” was not a title he normally applied to himself. “What brought Donovan… er…” the Ostian blanked as he failed to recall a byname for the man. He likely didn’t have a family name, only families people cared about did, but in Wein’s experience the only types lacking a byname were those of small significance, or those with something to hide. Did Donovan have something to hide? Or had he just not made his name in the world yet?

“Donovan First-in-line!” Wein joked, a smile on his face as he chuckled at the low effort epithet. Hopefully Donovan wouldn’t take offense. “What brought Donovan First-in-line to the steps of Laus?”

[Donovan]

Donovan was surprised to find that the young lord was so comfortable and informal with a person of Donovan’s rank, though it was a good sign in the mercenary’s books. A leader should be comfortable with their men. The silver tongued man took a seat opposite Wein’s desk and tried to not do anything too offensive. “I have not come so close to nobility in quite a few years, so forgive me if any of my behavior is insulting. What should I call you? Are you a “Commander” or a “my Lord”?” the mercenary grinned, nobles and their games were ridiculous to him. He preferred the grit of low born life.

“Well, I don’t quite have a last name. Troupers don’t really have any need for them. My mother  had one when she was still Etrurian, but her family disowned her after she left the clergy to shack up with a traveling performer. ” The mercenary laughed wildly, but cut himself off at the memory of his parents. They were both gone now. He’d nearly died before, but he’d never felt pain remotely like this.

Fragarach flared at the faux last name Wein had grated the mercenary, the air in the room stirring slightly. Over sensitive sword. The mercenary shook his head whilst he laughed, “I appreciate your granting me a name. However, I believe I must decline. Should I ever do anything truly deserving of a one, I will happily take it! But my being here first was more likely than not pure luck.” He grinned widely to try and convey that he took no offense to the noble's joke.

“All that said, of course I got here as quickly as I could. It’s not everyday that you get to make money while doing the right thing and paying back a debt of blood. To say that I am not fully devoted to the fall of Kraft would be… grossly inaccurate.” The mercenary shook the rage that was overcoming his normally laid back persona, and smiled. “It didn’t hurt that I was in the area when I finished my last job. My companions and I just went from one gig to the next.”

Donovan looked over at the Lord sitting in front of him and just barely frowned. He found Wein to be somewhat of a curiosity and could not help but ask. “What of you, my Lord? What brought you to lead a band of mercenaries against the greatest military nation in Elibe? Especially since you don’t seem so sure of your qualifications.” Donovan felt like the pair were playing a strange game. Back and forth, trying to find out who was sitting before them, without pushing too the other too far.

[Wein Lowell]

"To be honest I've always been partial to 'Wein'," the Ostian replied, a playful smirk on his face. He shrugged. "But 'Lord' is probably more appropriate. The Saint knows I am no commander." Wein was awful with titles. They were convenient to pull out when someone needed something done, but ultimately they always rubbed him the wrong way. Was he a "lord"? The modern word "lord" came from the older "hlāford" which was a variant of "hlāfweard" meaning "bread-keeper". The word referenced the older tribal custom where a chieftain was in charge of providing food, thus bread, for his followers to eat. It was a word meaning leader, instructor, and caretaker, like the word “father”. But now? Now it was hardly used in such a sense. Now the word just meant “privileged” or “superior”, where if you were born into the right family you were a “lord” from the moment you were born. And to Wein there was just something a bit wrong about that.

But he recognized that titles had their role. As much as he would prefer to just be called by his name, first names bred familiarity, and familiarity tended to breed disrespect. If he was to demonstrate any sort of worthiness in his ability to lead this counter offensive, to garner the support of the territories, he’d need to distance himself from the commoner persona he’d unconsciously adopted over the years. Having people refer to him as “Lord” was a good start.

Wein eyed the sword that hung sheathed at Donovan’s side. It had seemed to stir when he first addressed the mercenary. Was he seeing things, or was there something more to that sword? Hmm.

“So it would be inaccurate to say you’re mostly in it for the money?” Wein asked, though he figured he already knew the answer given Donovan’s momentary change in demeanor. This wasn’t a man looking for another job, though he tried to play it off as such. Here was a man actively looking to take the fight to one of the worst dictators Elibe had even known, whatever his personal reasons may be. That was hopefully just the kind of man Wein was looking for.

“Believe me when I say that’s not an unmerited question,” the Ostian replied, leaning back in his chair. He stared up at the ceiling as he recalled his travels. “I’ve had to escape Etrurian captivity twice to get here, and even now I’m asking myself the same thing. I did come here, to Laus, with plans of an Etrurian invasion.” Wein paused, swaying back and forth in his chair. “Well, not so much plans but marching orders. The commander whose guard I had escaped from was being sent to the Ilian border in preparation for a ‘liberation’.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t take a genius to realize what that means.”

“But if anyone else had come to the Marquess with that kind of information they would have been rewarded and sent away, not placed at the head of an entire military operation,” Wein continued, shaking his head slowly. “So why? Well I can tell you that I’m a son of House Lowell. In fact I’m likely the head of House Lowell, though that doesn’t mean much anymore.” Wein’s mouth twisted in a peculiar looking pursed lip grimace. “That’s all Marquess Laus seemed to care about. ‘Wein of House Lowell of Ostia’. He couldn’t seem to say it enough. He assigned plenty of his own captains and advisors to ‘support’ me, so I can only imagine my name is more valuable to him than my experience. And I don’t disagree with him if that’s true.”

Wein leaned forward in his chair, looking Donovan square in the eye and ceasing all unnecessary movement. His air remained casual as ever, but he was being quite serious.
“That’s why I called you here, Donovan. I don’t have a lot of friends out there in the world, not anymore at least, so I’m looking for a military man to support me because that is something I am not.” The archer smiled and leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head.

“So tell me about the military experience of Donovan No-Name.”

[Donovan]

Donovan was pleased with Wein’s answer. A humble lord is a tolerable lord, after all. He watched as the noble’s eyes darted down to Fragarach for the briefest of moments. So the archer was sharp, too. Donovan hadn’t noticed the sword’s more temperamental aspects for a day or two after he’d found it. “No, my lord, the money is merely a very happy bonus.”

The story Wein gave the black haired mercenary was a simple one. One that Donovan had been living his entire life. “I will say this to your situation, my Lord. It sounds like the Marquess is underestimating you. It doesn’t help that you keep telling yourself that you’re not a leader. You don’t need to be an experienced general to outsmart your enemies. Give yourself more credit, my Lord, you’re the commander of an army now, after all.”

Suddenly the noble sat forward in his chair, he maintained a light tone, but Donovan saw the skill with which he’d turned the conversation. The man could have been an incredible actor had he not been born with the gilded chains of nobility. Donovan was not quite a military man. Not in the way he thought Wein was looking for. But perhaps  an unconventional ally was what the archer really needed. And besides, being in a position of power when it came to battling Kraft? Nothing would satisfy the mercenary more.

“First things first, Donovan No-Name is perfect. Its has great dramatic flare, I’m gonna keep using that. Second. I don’t know if I’m the military man you think you want. But I just might be the one you need. Like I said. I was an actor for most of my life before I became a caravan guard, then a bounty and monster hunter, a body guard, and lately I’ve been working some private contracts for the government. I’m good with a blade. I’m better with strategy. I’m best with my words. I know how to read people, how to tell if they’re lying or hiding something.

“I’ve never served in any formal military, I've always been a free spirit. But I’ve come close to death many, many times. As a result, I don’t particularly like death. Whether it be my own or my companions'. One of the last jobs I ran was rooting out a fort taken over by bandits. I was a part of a crew of mercenaries hired by some noble. He’d put one of his cavaliers in command. That man’s plan was to throw half of our lives away trying to take over that fort. I convinced him to let me set it on fire. None of our band died because we smoked those bandits out. I think that military types tend to see their soldiers as pieces on a chess board… But that isn’t who I am. And quite frankly, it shouldn’t be who you are either.”

The mercenary stood up and walked around the room, taking in the chaos and stress. “It looks to me like you’ve spent a lot of time trying to come up with some sort of strategy for this war. Some sort of plan that will impress the usual crowd of the war room. But, my Lord - even if you go in with a plan that's just as good as any of theirs, they will not respect it. So why not go in with a plan that will turn them on their heads. That will force them to realize that you are a force to be reckoned with. I’d say your best shot to convince them of your prowess is to be unconventional. And that is where I can help you the most. Wein.” The silver tongued mercenary was taking a gambit - he was risking blatantly offending the commander of an army, a noble of Ostia - but he had a feeling that the Lord would hear what he was saying. Wein was clearly very bright, dedicated, and steadfast in his determination to win this war. But Lycia didn’t stand a chance against Etruria with a conventional campaign, they were out armed and out manned. They needed someone who would think outside the box.

[Wein Lowell]

Wein did his best to stifle a grin as Donovan finished speaking. Had he just happened to pick the perfect candidate? The man was wordly, well-traveled, combat experienced, strategically minded, unconventional, non-rigid, and, most importantly, he was actively concerned about the well-being of those he fought with.

He was also, as he clearly declared, "best with his words". Or would "silver-tongued" be a better descriptor? Wein was a natural optomist, so much so that he could be compared to a dog in how trusting and loyal he was. And over the years that had gotten him into a lot of trouble, so he was now, by necessity, also a practiced pessimist. He knew when something was too good to be true; it tended to be when he got the most excited, and he was getting very excited right now. No man this perfect could be trusted at face value, and this could all very well be just a finely crafted story meant to make the Ostian buy into the wonderful merit of Donovan No-Name. It wasn't something Wein was unfamiliar with. He had grown up in noble courts, and the noble that did not make a career out of lying and storytelling was a rare creature. Also an unsuccessful one. The archer had found it despicable in his youth, but now he was starting to see the use.

Of course, if it was all a lie, the illusion wouldn't last very long under pressure. But if there was truth in the man's words, then he would make himself useful regardless, because he was right about one thing: He'd need something unconventional and surprising to get the attention of his advisors.

"I think you're right," replied Wein, pointing at Donovan with a gesture of affirmation. "You're exactly the man I need." He then leaned over to his desk, grabbed a book and a piece of parchment, then placed the book on his lap while laying the parchment over the top of it. Reaching back over to his desk he snatched his inkpot and quill, then put the former on the armrest of his large chair while dipping the latter in it. He placed the tip of his quill, then tapped the tip of the implement at the top of his paper.

"So what sort of unconventional plan have you got for me?"

[Donovan]

The bow wielding lord’s grin barely flashed across his face as Donovan finished speaking. What sort of plan did he have? It was a little short notice, but he supposed anything would be better than nothing. “Well… I guess that I’d start by repeating what I said earlier,” the mercenary hesitantly began. “Before Lycia can take on Etruria, we’d have to clean up our own first.” The silver tongued man moved next to Wein and leaned over the lord’s desk at the map of Elibe that lay upon it. “We have an advantage in that Etruria will not be able to attack us easily, unless they do so by sea. Ostia is the only point of access between our two nations.” Donovan stopped for a moment, his hand idly rubbing the back of his neck whilst he thought. “And they won’t do so until it is absolutely necessary because of the monsters that have made your homeland their own.” The mercenary realized that the fall of Ostia had probably been very hard for Wein. “Sorry.”

“So right now, our biggest threats are within. That’s what I’d take care of first. You will be hard pressed to recruit soldiers of the common folk when there are monsters roaming the country from Ostia to Pharae. I would suggest that the first branch of our plan be in taking those creatures out as much as possible. Starting in the eastern most territories - Pharae and Tania - and sweep out west. We’d be protecting the people and training our new recruits for war. Plus, if we start doing that, Etruria’s operatives might not realize that it is part of our counter offensive.

“That would be the second branch; eliminating the operatives hiding in the noble houses. Kraft has eyes and ears everywhere, if we want to win this war, we’re going to need to cut them off. Subtly. We need a good couple of assassins and informants to root them out. We’d need to recruit those territories to the cause, as well, we need more of the nobility of Lycia to be working for you, rather than Marquess Laus…” Pushing off of the desk, Donovan began to pace the room. His mind whirling. He knew little about how to run a true military campaign. But what he was suggesting was different. It required subtlety and deception - which was far more up Don’s alley. He turned back to Wein the barest trickle of a plan jumping to his mind. “It wouldn’t hurt to have some sort of base in Nabata. Something to help us smuggle things in and out of Etruria through the desert… I’m not sure, it was just a thought.”

There was only one idea the mercenary had left. But it was a big enough reveal, that he felt obliged to the performer within him to give it more of a moment. “I would say we split the forces down into two seemingly unconnected branches. A mercenary guild filled with nameless mercenaries like myself and that of the official Lycian Marquess. This would help keep Etruria’s attention off of us. If they knew we were building up one large army, their first move would likely be to squash us.”

“So we find experienced people to help us in these campaigns. I have a few highly skilled people in mind for the job. So really all we have to do is recruit some more leaders who are in your corner.” The mercenary's heart was racing, he wasn't quite sure where all that had come from, but the words had fled from his mouth like they'd been waiting a lifetime to be said. It was all fairly rough, but with the right advisers the black haired mercenary felt like they would be able to shift the odds into Lycia's favor. Donovan walked back to the desk and looked back over the map of Elibe, he refused to look up at the lord as a small grin overcame his face. “I suppose the only other thing to discuss is the Princess…”

[Wein Lowell]

Wein's face fell as Donovan mentioned Ostia's current state, but he didn’t allow the sadness to linger long. Yes, his home was a stinking, monster-filled crater, but it had been for awhile now and no amount of sulking would change that. He’d already been through his five stages of grief. He’d come to terms with what had happened to his homeland. That was why he was leading an army. He wanted to take the fight to Etruria. He wanted to see Kraft out of power, and all those who would follow him either dead or imprisoned, and those caught in between relieved of their suffering. No one else should have to experience what Wein had.

But the Ostian said none of this, and just waved Donovan along to keep him speaking as he continued to jot down notes. The man detailed his plan of action in reasonable detail, and his overarching strategy Wein liked. First they would shore up Lycian lands, driving out monsters and bandits in order to create stability, then they would clean up the courts of the Marquesses to ensure Etruria’s information channels were stoppered up. There was also something about establishing a base of operations in Nabata. That was something Wein was open to if they could make it work, but maintaining an international fort seemed to be a bit of a stretch given that the Lycian territories could hardly get along as it was.

Donovan’s final point was a good one. If the Lycian Counter Offensive flew under the banner of Laus, it would immediately draw the eyes of Kraft to it. That wasn’t to say that a growing mercenary army wouldn’t, but it would be harder to follow if it operated under a selected mercenary leader while Wein attended to affairs with the Marquesses. And Wein figured, from the way Donovan immediately began suggesting people to help out, he most likely expected to be considered as said mercenary leader. Not a bad assumption, though.

“I like the plan,” said Wein, nodding his head to the affirmative. “I may have some concerns about where we allocate our resources…” he continued, referring to Donovan’s idea that they focus on eastern Lycian before moving their cleanup forces west, “...but it sounds like something I can get behind. Definitely something I can propose to the commanders tomorrow, though I can bet you a bag of gold they won’t like the idea of splitting the forces.” The Ostian finished jotting down the last bit of information, then placed his note paper, his inkpot, and his book back on his desk. He folded his hands on his lap and looked at Donovan. “Good thing I’m in charge though, right? Hooo…” He exhaled loudly, and leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling. Wein in charge. He was still getting his head around that concept. And staring down all those far more experienced soldiers and politicians would be a nightmare, even with a solid plan.

“We’ll get together in the morning and iron out the details,” he said, stretching out his arms. His mouth split into a wide yawn. “The war meeting isn’t until late afternoon tomorrow, and right now I’m dead tired. Now I’ll sleep a lot better knowing I at least have something to go to that meeting with.” The noble smacked his lips together a couple of times, then rubbed some oncoming sleep out of his eyes. Now that his mind wasn’t racing trying to think of ideas, nothing was holding back his fatigue. “I would appreciate it if you could join me. You came up with the plan, after all, and I need someone at the council to have my back.” Wein realized he was cutting the discussion a bit short, given the import of the subject at hand, but he really was tired, and didn't think he'd be able to provide a very critical eye to the topic in the state his mind was in.

But then Wein realized he'd missed something. Arugably the most important thing Donovan had mentioned.

"Oh, and, um, what did you mean when you said 'princess'?"

[Donovan]

Donovan looked up at his commander after he’d finished running through his spontaneous plan. The Ostian lord nodded his head appearing to agree with the structure. He could tell that the master archer wanted to clarify the details of their strategy, after all, Don had not had too much time to figure out the details. “Of course, no commander with any experience would split forces so willingly. I doubt its often a good way to fight a war. But in this war, in this first stage, I think its the only way to get ahead of the hurdles we would face if we didn’t eliminate the monster and spies that will be a deciding factor in this long run. And you’re right, you are in charge now whether they like it or not.”

“We definitely will need to flush it out, and I guess tomorrow works for me. I don’t think I have anything planned…” The mercenary trailed off as if trying to remember if he’d had some errands the next day, before smiling and chuckling, “Nah, my lord, I’m definitely good.” When Wein invited him to the war council, Donovan was surprised, he was Donovan No-Name, after all. Many of the generals in that room might not appreciate his presence. Wein was a clever man, he definitely knew that. “That’s a bold strategy, Lowell.” Fragarach billowed gently at the lack of formality and a grin broke over Don’s face, his bright green eyes touched with a wild anticipation. “Let’s see how it pays off. I’d be honored to have your back.”

The Ostian’s new strategist rose, a little surprised that Wein had missed his comment on the Princess. Gathering himself, he bowed slightly awkwardly and began to leave the room, when the Ostian’s voice cut clear through the quarters. “Oh, right.” The mercenary feigned the information having slipped his mind and walked back toward the desk. When he spoke, he used a trick he'd learned back when he was only 3 years old, allowing his voice to sound like it was speaking out in a conversational tone while his words were almost inaudible to anyone more that a few feet away from him. His mother had called it mumbling. Don preferred thinking of it as the opposite of a stage whisper. In either case, it was very useful for making any prying ears think you're having a casual conversation, without being able to understand anything you say. “I know how to find the Princess of Etruria; Eleonora. I just thought we should find her and protect her, since she’s the only person capable of keeping that country together after we throw the whole damn thing into chaos. This... isn’t something I think we should bring to the attention of the others, we don’t know who is in Kraft’s pocket yet. Honestly, we shouldn’t even talk about it here. Castles like this have walls with exceptionally good hearing.”

[Wein Lowell]

"Agreed."

That was all Wein said. It wasn't that he wasn't surprised by Donovan's words, no, actually he was astonished, and he knew then when he got astonished he tended get loud so the last thing he needed was to blurt out such a delicate piece of information in excitement. It was also all he needed to say. No, they shouldn't bring this to the attention of the others, and yes, if Donovan was indeed telling the truth then they should find her and protect her. Not only was a lost princess of Etruria likely a high priority target for a dictator like Kraft, and thus likely needed protecting, but princesses made for a powerful allies, if not for their own power then the influence of their names. That was how Wein had gotten his position at the head of this so-called "Lycian Counter-Offensive", was it not? A name? And if this truly was possible, having such a presence on the side of the LCO would lend more credence to the movement when it came time to call in allies. Fighting for Marquess Laus was one thing, but fighting to reinstall a legitimate ruler of Etruria over their fanatical tyrant was something all could get behind. Or at least Wein so thought.

"Well again, Donovan, I know I called you in here late, but I must say I appreciate the time you have spent with me," said Wein, raising his voice to a normal, conversational tone. "The meeting has been short, but you have been quite helpful, and like I said, we will hash out the details in the morning." The Ostian turned back around to his desk and pulled a small piece of torn parchment off of it. He took a moment to scribble something onto the paper, then, holding the note in his palm, held his hand out to Donovan expecting a handshake. When the silver tongued man read the message, he would see a location: the stable. That was where they would meet in the morning, then take a couple of horses out onto the hunting trail to continue their conversation. Much harder for prying ears to intrude on their conversation then.

"See you then," he said with a smile. Anticipation welled in the archer's chest. Truly big things were afoot, and for once Wein was at the head. Perhaps this truly was his chance to become a hero. "Wein Lowell, Hero of Laus. Slayer of Kraft and Restorer of Etruria!" Yes. He could hear it now.

[Donovan]

The barest beginnings of a smile crept onto the green clad mercenary’s face. This Ostian was smart. He’d enjoy working with him. As the noble’s voice rose to a normal level, the mercenary stood up straight, “I’m looking forward to in, my lord. Until the morning, then.” Donovan shook Weins hand, subtly taking the note from it, despite there likely being no reason for the sleight of hand. The Ostian’s handshake was not that of some locked away noble who’d spent his whole life being pampered on, it was one that commanded respect.

Leaving Wein’s chamber, the steel grey eyes of his guards stared up of the tall liar with disdain. Donovan couldn’t help but wonder if they were just upset that such a lowly mercenary had spent this time with their charge or if they were Etrurian spies. He hated that feeling; that everything he did might be being watched by one of the False Prophet’s rats. He met the guard’s stare with a wink and a smile before turning crisply back down the stairway he’d just recently ascended.

Each step down the stairs hit him like a ton of bricks. What was he doing? He was a mercenary - a liar - not some hero. How could he be responsible for other men’s lives? He stopped under a torch and leaned his head against the wall. Part of him hoping that the whole interaction had been a dream. His hand drifted past Fragarach and grazed the dragon horn hilt of the sword, and from the blade Donovan felt a sudden and unyielding sense of pride overtake him. He had the chance to do something good. To save lives and change the world.

Donovan opened the note Wein had given him and read its contents. The stable. Was as good a place as any to hide from unwanted ears. Holding the note up to the torch, he watched as the piece of parchment idly caught fire. He walked over to a window, allowing it to burn down toward his fingertips before he blew the flame from it. Nothing remained of the message. He pushed the paper through the opening in the tower’s stairwell and watched as the small piece of parchment drifted away on a passing gust of wind.

He was entering a dangerous new world and he had no name to protect him from his foes. Now was not the time to throw caution to the wind. Donovan No Name, Champion of Lycia. Sword of the People and Guardian of the Princess… No such words rang in his ears. Only the vastness of the task in front of him.

Only the memory of his mother.

[End Thread]