The War of 302

The Great War of 302
From the journals of Lucian Galanodel

It was late summer--Edrimios by some accounts--when Master Artificer Ivallion entered the audience chambers of His Majesty King Lirum-Duhl of the Kingdom of Leib-Olmai. Despite the temperate weather that day, Ivallion was swathed in several layers of tattered robes. His hood was draped over his seemingly feeble shoulders. Long hair the color of virgin snow framed his unremarkable face and his tired gray eyes gazed blankly across the vast chambers. Taking a knee and bowing low to the polished stone floor, the Master Artificer drew a deep breath before addressing the King and his panel of stern-faced advisers.

“My lord king,” he said at length, “may I express my gratitude in your seeing me on such short notice?”

“Only if you are timely with it.” Lirum-Duhl replied harshly. “Pray, what of this ‘urgent’ business you blathered to my guards about that could not wait until a proper audience?”

To the casual observer, Ivallion’s stoic expression remained unchanging. Behind those cold slate-gray eyes, however, was a hint of smile and unrevealed humor.

“Forty seven long years ago, my king,” he began, “my father, master Artificer Fravak, was traveling through your lands on his way home from a research expedition at Drakescream Mountain. Alas, he grew weary from his journey and was ambushed by bandits. They meant to kill him, and would have succeeded if not for the valor of one of your patrol squadrons who not only slew the bandits, but helped my father to this very citadel where his wounds were so generously mended.”

The monarch shifted in his ornate throne and motioned impatiently for his guest to continue.

“As such, when it came to my attention that a threat to such an honorable and hospitable realm as this was brewing, I thought it only proper that such a threat be revealed before it rears its ugly head upon your doorstep.”

The Honor Guard Captain at the king’s right stiffened slightly at the mention of a ‘threat’, but was quelled by an almost imperceptible wave of the king’s hand. Lirum-Duhl’s eyebrow quirked as he inadvertently slid forward in his seat. Ivallion smiled inwardly as he enjoyed his moment.

'So I have the old fool’s attention now.' He thought to himself. 'Now the fun begins.

[hr]
“NO! Parry you moron! Ugh!” General Wolfrum beat the pommel of his sword against his forehead in frustration, his eyes briefly flashing red beneath his sweat drenched brow. The Draconian Warlord marched briskly across the field, sheathing his sword and muttering an arcane spell as the young soldier’s eyes rolled back into his head.

“Get the fuck up!” Wolfrum punctuated his command by delivering a punch to the boy’s jaw that some claim was heard by the patrolmen at the front of the palace. The General’s hand was imbued with the magical energy of the healing spell, which was transferred through the punch and into the soldier just as he started to slump to the ground. Wolfrum glared at his pupil for a moment before speaking.

“Pull that blade out of your chest and get you ass back on line. Everyone,” he turned to address all of the soldiers, “form rank!”

The fourteen-hundred recruits quickly assembled as King Arioch made his way casually across the worn lawn, his warm, confident smile seemingly lending strength to the training-fatigued soldiers as backs straightened and chins rose throughout the ranks.

Arioch stood next to his old friend, his gold-trimmed black robes billowing gently in the breeze.

“Your men are looking well, General.”

“They’re your men, Arioch. And no, they are worse if anything.”

The king chuckled at General Wolfrum’s statement. Anyone else addressing him in such a manner would have much to answer for. But Wolfrum, the two of them had been through too much; the king knew his friend too well to take offense.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on them, Wolfrum. They’re just boys, most of them.” The king chided lightly.

“Then they should be suckling a tit, not swinging a sword.” Wolfrum replied coolly.

King Arioch laughed heartily this time, looking admiringly at his troops before allowing his gaze to settle upon his confidant. Long black hair, obsidian in both texture and hue, cascaded over a carefully polished chain mail shirt. The emotionless expression on his face, so characteristic of Wolfrum, was animated only by his eyes, which shifted subtly from black to a dull red depending on the Draconian’s mood. As Wolfrum noticed the king’s appraising look, he curled his lips into a mocking smirk.

“What is it, your majesty, are my horns showing?”

“Always, my friend.” Arioch said with another laugh. “I do appreciate your taking time to train my men. With the Spider Queen in another of her moods, I feel better increasing our numbers a bit, especially under your direction.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Wolfrum crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s the third time you’ve thanked me. Enough already! I just want to make sure your house doesn’t fall down around you just because a temperamental spider decides she doesn’t like your singing. But if you truly wish to thank me,” He said with a conspiratorial smile, “you can have your wife cook me some of he renowned stewed bugbear.”

“Ha! Stew it is then!” Arioch replied as he turned back toward the palace, leaving Wolfrum to his training.

[hr]
“What threat would that be?” King Lirum-Duhl spit. “What could you possibly know that my scouts would not have reported first?”

“My liege,” replied the Master Artificer, “not all threats are immediate nor apparent, but they remain dangerous nonetheless.”

“Out with it then, man, unless you have ulterior motives for providing this information.” Lirum-Duhl said, his lip beginning to twitch in a parody of a snarl. “I am not in the habit of pleading, nor can you expect a bribe in coin for your alleged information. So don’t waste your time or mine.”

Ivallion raised both hands before him, palms up, in a subservient gesture.

“My only motives, Lord King, are to see that you are made aware of an injustice, that you may properly prepare. I expect to leave this place with my hands as empty as you see them now, but with the burden of truth lifted from my tired back, that is all.”

The king said nothing but looked at Ivallion expectantly. With a deep breath, the Artificer lowered his arms.

“I have been studying with the elves in Moèrae for several months. On my way home to my family’s farm just north of Ork Tooth Bluff, I opted to travel through the Ariadnian Empire rather than chance a trek through the denser northern mountains. I noticed, just outside of the citadel, a cavern being assembled with provisions and weaponry the likes of which I have never seen. Inside the city walls, a great army was being amassed. Normally I would not have paid much attention to such things as warfare scarcely interests me. However, I stopped at a tavern for a bite and an ale, and overheard a few soldiers talking about marching upon Leib-Olmai; that they would set out once winter has fully settled. I did not believe what I heard at first, and thought surly that I had heard wrong, but as I continued to listen to their conversation… well my lord, they sounded almost anxious and even mentioned you by name, claiming that you would never see it coming.”

“That’s preposterous!” King Lirum-Duhl exclaimed. “You would have me believe that King Arioch wants a war? Absurd!”

“All you have to do is have a look, Lord King, to prove that I have spoken only the truth to you. To ignore this could mean the death of many of your people. Would it be so costly to send but a few scouts to prove what I have told you? So costly as to risk your very seat?”

King Lirum-Duhl opened his mouth as if to speak then abruptly closed it and turned to look as the captain of his Honor Guard.

“It will be done, milord.” The guard said as he started toward the door.

[hr]
“Did you have to bring so much, Wolfrum?” King Arioch asked teasingly as the two of them walked the gardens late in the evening. Wolfrum snorted in reply, his mail shining in the bright moon light.

“I had no choice. Your soldiers clearly needed to see an example of some real warriors. I thought that may be the kick in the ass they needed. Where my men go, my equipment goes; simple as that. Besides, I portaled it outside of the city so it's not in your way. Quit complaining old man.”

“You're one to comment upon age, Wolfrum.” Arioch jousted back “But I suppose it's alright so long as your services continue to cost me only my wife's stew.”

“Which was as good as rumors foretold, I must say.”

King Arioch's tone became suddenly serious. “What do you expect from the Spider Queen, Wolfrum?”

The Warlord sighed and shook his head, “Honestly? I expect her to whine, bitch, and moan about whatever is convenient at the moment, then send a horde of her eightlegged playthings at us, then whine, bitch, and moan because we killed her horde of eight-legged playthings, and eventually she'll calm down and skulk back into her little cave and life will continue normally until the next time she stubs a toe.”

Arioch stopped walking and looked thoughtfully at the Moonflowers around him. Wolfrum placed a strong hand on his friend's shoulder.

“Relax old friend, you've nothing to worry about.”

[hr]
After his audience with Lirum-Duhl, Ivallion left the palace and made his way to the stables where a groom already had his gelding brushed, fed, watered, and saddled. With a curt nod to the young groom, Ivallion took the reins in his thickly gloved hand and led his horse out of the enclosure, the soft scent of fresh hay following him out into the bright morning sun. Wanting a moment to contemplate his next move, the Artificer continued to lead his equine companion on foot through the already busy streets of Leib-Olmai.

As though carried on the warm Edrimios breeze, a swarm of small children descended upon Ivallion. Even covered as they were with dirt, the young faces that looked pleadingly to the cloked stranger showed the unmistakable evidence of hardship; of knowledge that the world was cruel, and that no one was immune to the horrors that simple living could bring. There was no malice in those eyes; no accusation nor envy that life had not been quite as cruel to this stranger. Just an unvoiced plea for mercy punctuated by sad eyes and outstretched hands.

Ivallion looked upon those children with pity. He considered releasing them from the torment of life. In just the amount of time it took to unsheath his dirk, he could free the urchins by delivering them into Death's cold bossom. As he reached for the blade concealed at his hip, he suddenly remembered mission. After so much careful planning, he could not afford to draw undue attention to himself. Reluctantly, instead of his enchanted dirk, the Master Artificer took some gold coins from his purse and scattered them to the children. As an afterthought, Ivallion bent and gathered a handfull of sand. Holding the sand in his left hand, he traced symbols in the air with his right index finger , his eyes closed tightly in concentration. In a bright flash of amber light, the sand transmuted into a polished wooden horse statue with hinged legs.

With a smile, the Artificer handed the toy to the youngest of the children, mounted his gelding, and rode away leaving the awestruck younglings staring after him.

[hr]
"Your Magesty!"

The scout rushed into the King's private study, his green and silver tabbard soiled with blood and dirt and his left arm hanging uselessly at his side. King Lirum-Duhl looked up from his reading, his expression changing from irritation to concern as the soldier came to a stop on the other side of the large mahogany desk.

"Drow matron's tits!" The king swore, "What happened to you, boy?"

The scout, no more than fourteen winters behind him made a feeble attempt at a salute and then doubled over with his hands on his knees gasping for breath.

"Forgive me... my king... I..."

[hr]
"What do you mean you lost him?" Wolfrum roared to the Ariadnian soldier. The Draconian Lord's eyes trailed red fumes as he paced the floor of the library. The soldier shifted his feet uneasily.

"M-m-my Lord, h-he got away. I-I couldn't catch him... t-to fast sir..."

Wolfrum stopped in front of him and heaved a sigh, pressing a hand to the side of his head as he glared at the soldier.

"Tell me again what happened, and spare no detail."

"Yes s-sir." The young man stammered, "I was in the woods just outside of the perimeter training with Seargent Reilos, sir, casting from cover... using the trees. We were tagging wargs and bugbears with flame arrows. Then there was an Olmanian scout. He was watching us. I was in the offensive against Leib-Olmai in 291 so I guess I still have some hard feelings... I-I-I know I was wrong, sir, but I engaged him... he was too fast... I know I hit him at least once..."

"Enough." Wolfrum said tiredly with a wave of his hand. As the soldier rapidly aged, crumbling to dust an instant later, the Draconian Lord turned and moved toward the door, his closk sweeping the pile of dust that, moments before had fallen victim to the Warlord's fury.

"Arioch is not going to like this..." Wolfrum muttered to himself as he made his way to the King's chambers to deliver the news.

[hr]
"Attacked you?" King Lirum-Duhl exclaimed.

"Yessir. It was an Ariadnian soldier for sure, milord. I'm sure of it. I saw the supplies and convoy and was on my way back to report, and he attacked me with fire, sir.

I barely escaped."

"So it's true then..." The King said, more to himself than to anyone else. "Captain, assemble a team. If Arioch wants a war, then we shall bring him one."

[hr]
An unseasonably cold wind blew across the moor, ruffling the layers of brightly colored cloth draped about Madame Zsuzsanna's waist. The small silver and gold bells hanging from her garter made soft tinkling noises, seeming to answer the harsh breath of the wind, a conversation of whispers in the otherwise silent evening. The full moon shone above, a reddish haze veiling its face in the star-speckled sky. The Ramvovi turned her milky white eyes to the heavens, taking in the arrangement of bright pinpoints against the velvet backdrop.

"A bad omen z'is iz," she said, adding her own raspy whisper to those of her bells and the wind, "zere iz blood to be shed z'is night. A miz'understanding z'at villlead to many years ov pain..."

She gathered her cloak about her shoulders and stepped to the side of the road upon which she had been walking as the sound of hoofbeats approached from behind. A single horse passed at speed, its rider a man with bright white hair in several layers of dark robes. As he passed, a shiver ran down Madame Zsuzsanna's spine.

"Jes, evil iz afoot zis night." She said as horse and rider disappeared into the night toward Ariadnian town proper.

[hr]
"Secure the perimeter and hold that line!" Wolfrum's voice carried over the clash of metal and cries of pain that filled the night. "Get those damn portals sealed."

Thousands of soldiers flooded out of the shimmering portals just outside of the Ariadnian Citadel, each clad in Leib-Olmai's green and silver, and set upon killing and burning everythng in their collective path. General Wolfrum's blade flashed like lightning, cutting down the invaders as quickly as they breeched his range. He shouted over the thrum of bowstrings and hoofbeats.

"Don't let them reach the castle-agh!" The Warlord was cut short as an arrow pierced the side of his neck, burrying itself to the guide feathers. With a gutteral roar, he pulled the arrow from his flesh and tossed it aside. Holding his palm toward the Olmanian bowman, Wolfrum's face twisted into a cruel snarl as the air around him grew darker and the shadows curled and rippled.

"I call upon the forces of arcane might to disintegrate your body and obliterate your soul."

As the Olmanian's bow shattered from the force of the spell, the shadows around him contorted and reached toward him as his lifeless body joined the hundreds of others that littered the ground. From the flickering firelight, an Ariadnian scout made his way frantically to Wolfrum, skillfully dodging between arrows and around blades, reaching the Draconian exhausted but unscathed.

"General! Assassins! In the palace!"

"Shit!" Wolfrum swore, turning to the young officer at his side. "Corporal Jedash, you're in charge."

Without waiting for acknowledgement, Wolfrum vanished, reappearing on the palace steps just outside of the Translocation Ward. At a run, the Warlord made his way through the corridors, which were silent save for his heavy footfalls. Turning the final corner to the King's bed chamber, he felt the most powerful of his spell shields expend as a burst of energy struck his chest with startling force. Without thinking nor breaking pace, Wolfrum threw down his sword and pulled his hands to his chest, palms crackling with black energy as they came together.

"Exsundea Rulach Volechaste Est Merlangh!"

The enraged Draconian thrust his hands toward the intruder as he completed the incantation, sending a ray of black-green energy through the mage's defenses, shattering his spellshields, and reducing him to a pile of smoldering robes. Wolfrum leapt over the ruined pile of silk, gems, and liquified flesh, turning in midair and reaching toward the corridor behind him as his glistening sword flew up to meet his outstretched hand. The Warlord landed in a crouch, his blade raised before him in a two-handed grip and tendrils of smoke wisping from his nostrils as he quickly surveyed the vast chambers of King Arioch.

[hr]
The metallic scent of blood and the sound of raging battle reached Master Artificer Ivallion long before he arrived at the treeline outside of Ariadnian Citadel. He dismounted his gelding, removed the saddle and harness, and sent it off into the woods with a sharp smack on the rump. From behind the cover of the thick, gnarled wood of an Elder tree, Ivallion took in the scene before him. He chuckled softly to himself.

"Oh dear, and what has happened here?" With another laugh, he watched as flames licked the sky while hungrily devouring the thatch-roofed buildings that made up the homes of the confused Ariadnians.

"Tsk tsk tsk, silly kings. So simple they are to manipulate. Suspicion and rage burn in the hearts of all men. Sometimes the embers just need a bit of fanning to catch blaze."

The Master Artificer drew his dark cloak tightly about his shoulders and began making his way into the city, his long hair—white as the full moon above—blowing behind him in the evening breeze.

"With Arioch and his underlings so distracted, I will finally be able to conduct my search uninterrupted."

Reaching down to his belt line, Ivallion's fingers found the handle of his enchanted dirk. With his thumb, he rubbed at he runes carved into the side of the pommel and vanished from sight, his presence discernable only by the footprints left by each step in the soft soil.

"I know that crystal is in the city," he whispered as he stepped out of the treeline.

"Master will be pleased."

[hr]
The sound of soft sobs met Wolfrum at the door of the King's bed chambers. Lowering his sword, the Draconian stepped into the room to find King Arioch on the floor by the window kneeling over the sprawled bodies of his wife and daughter. At Wolfrum's approach, the King snapped his head up and raised his hand, bright golden energy crackling at his palm. As recognition dawned on the grief-stricken Arioch, tears began to fall down his tear-streaked face again.

"They killed them, Wolfrum." The King's voice was cold and emotionless, but his pain was as obvious as the bloody gash across his face, and the singed and tattered bedclothes that hung in pieces from his body.

"Morrigan and Raine were in here with me because of the fighting outside... I told them they would be safe here... that I would keep them safe. Then they came in... only a handful of them... I thought surely I could... It was me they were after..." Arioch turned back to Raine's lifeless body and stroked his daughter's cooling cheek.

"After I managed to run them off, I tried every healing spell I know. Nothing worked, Wolfrum. They're gone..."

He leaned down to brush his daughter's cheek with his lips, then rested his forehead upon Morrigan's. Unknowing of what to say, Wolfrum remained silent.

"I swear upon my very existence," the King went on after a moment, "I will not rest until Lirum-Duhl pays for this unprovoked atrocity."

Just then, a bone chilling shriek sounded from outside; a shriek both Arioch and Wolfrum knew well. The feeling of dread already soiling the room thickened.

"No, no, no... not now!" Wolfrum said, breaking his silence. He hesitated only a moment before turning and running from the room and turned toward the door, channeling magical energy into his sword as he swiftly navigated the corridors of the palace. In all Wolfrum's many years walking this plane—and others—he had heard the battle cries from just as many creatures. But one in particular stood out from the rest. One more ominous than any other. One that belonged to the creature responsible for the scar running along the side of his face. One he wished never to hear again. The one he was hearing at that very moment. The cry of the Agathora Stormsilk, the Spider Queen...

Edited/Updated: 11/25/2022 by Eric. Reason: Accuracy of terms used with regard to new rules and standards.