Drakyvaria
Primarch’s Palace
“Rielc, begin.”
Consider this our attempt to nullify any previous grievances between our two cities. It is an attempt to foster more trading and build more cordial relations between our two cities. It is our wish that both of our cities may prosper atop these sands. Which is why I ask that you allow myself…
The old advisor nearly fell out of his seat as he heard the Primarch’s words.
“Lord Primarch! You cannot possibly be considering this. When did you conceive this notion?” The advisor stared at his lord in complete shock.
“I…had some time to think. It’s one of the few things Primarchs have never done, seeing as how we’re always too busy fighting off an enemy outside or within.”
“But Lord Primarch…it is all for the good of Drakyvaria,” the advisor stated in a pleading tone.
“Yes, a thinking Primarch is for the good of Drakyvaria, not one that rushes blindly forward.”
At that, the advisor acknowledged the Primarch with a nod. Perhaps Aug’Feyleth was ruling longer than the others because he had a brain.
“Do tell, Lord Primarch. You will be spurning Duatos’s...”
At the mention of Duatos, the Primarch shook his head. “The Ka’etruscans…”
The halls were devoid of servants.
He chose to say no more, he was aware that there might be a spy in his midst, concealed behind several drapes in the hall. There always was.
The Primarch merely shook his head.
“I would very much prefer a bit of Khalthi syrup, Rielc.”
The advisor stared at his Primarch.
Aug’Feyleth shifted his eyebrows. The advisor understood.
“Right, yes. I will have the servants upon that task quickly,” and Rielc left immediately, leaving the transcript scroll unfinished upon the Primarch’s desk.
As Rielc left, so too did the spy slip away, the Primarch narrowed his eyes.
93rd Day
House Ka’etruscan
“And he said nothing more?”
“Nothing more, my liege…”
Duatos Ka’etruscan shifted his sharp gaze away from his underling as he repetitively rotated two metal spheres in the palm of his hand. It was a therapy used to improve manual dexterity and strength. His claws were long and needed a bit of a trim.
He was perhaps in his eighties for a Drak, according to the timekeepers. He bore a scar that carved through his right eye and ran down the right side of his face, ending just below his mouth. The skin there was rougher than most other places, as new and harder scales had formed on the edges of the wound. His skin was a light brown. His crest was bony and covered in rough scales. Four fangs protruded from his lower jaw, two on each side of his face, evenly spaced apart.
He was in his dark grey robes, tied at the waist by a black sash. He had thick, scaly appendages that were analogous to human hair, running from the back of his crest and ending just below his broad shoulders.
Duatos’s quarter was secluded near the rear of the Ka’etruscan manor. It was the patriarch’s place of work and contemplation.
The spy kept his head down as he kneeled on one knee. The Ka’etruscan patriarch paced around slowly, he looked to his palm and felt like crushing the orbs, but that would yield nothing useful for him. He exhaled from his nostrils and took a seat behind his desk, placing the spheres back within the box they came from.
He opened one of the volumes that had been piled upon his desk, “Any word from Melio?”
“Not yet my lord.”
“Dismissed.”
The minion replied by stooping first and then slinking away into the dark recesses of the hall, leaving the lord to his thoughts.
He leafed through the pages of this volume with interest. It was an old work, composed perhaps ages ago by Drakyvarian elders long passed.
The tome was filled with ancient runic markings, not seen by any of the common folk, and very rarely in the manors of the noble houses. Tomes such as these were left among the timekeepers who kept and transcribed the records for future generations.
However, the patriarch managed to comb through the old family records. And he was particularly consumed by this new work. Knowledge was power for him. It spoke of old prophecies, rituals, and even magic. To the average person, such a volume had no value or importance other than perhaps entertainment.
Magic was believed by many to be a long lost art. He knew otherwise.
He looked to his hand, which by now began to glow in a dark blue aura. The waves of light emanated from his hand which he chose as the fount for the power.
But just as he was beginning to draw on a larger fraction of his potential, a quick wit voice danced across the chamber from him.
His energy abruptly faded as he looked up to see a familiar face, a Drakyvarian in dark grey, scaly skin. He had an eye patch across one of his eyes, strapped to one of the two short horns protruding from his crest, arching backward.
“Melio! Do you not knock?”
“Apologies, lord,” the younger Drak smiled slyly, his forked tongue hanging loosely, as he bowed before his lord.
“Where have you been?”
“I found one.”
“One? When?”
“Some time ago.”
The patriarch gazed at him through narrow eyes, “Where is he now?”
“Fulfilling the task,” Melio replied curtly.
Duatos smiled.
Protectorate City
It had been three days since the original attack, and repairs were pretty slow.
Rather than waste the efforts of the Guard to hunt down the attackers, the council decided to follow a rather original idea. And it went as followed.
Calling Brave Adventurers and Freemen!
This is a posting to find willing individuals to hunt down the perpetrators of the attack on the ninetieth.
It is time to bring them to Justice!
The rewards are as follows…
You may keep whatever treasures that you scavenge or find from the fugitives such as weapons or bezants. As well as an additional reward! From the City as thanks for your service, three hundred bezants!
If you are interested, meet at the front of the Dome around noon for more details!
This is a posting to find willing individuals to hunt down the perpetrators of the attack on the ninetieth.
It is time to bring them to Justice!
The rewards are as follows…
You may keep whatever treasures that you scavenge or find from the fugitives such as weapons or bezants. As well as an additional reward! From the City as thanks for your service, three hundred bezants!
If you are interested, meet at the front of the Dome around noon for more details!
Since this was the first time bandits had ever attacked the city directly, this would be the first time the City would call upon willing travelers and adventurers to hunt down bandits in this manner. The Council members that devised this idea, Cidny and Homar, were in a word, clever. They knew greed was a powerful motivator especially in Protectorate City. The idea would only work, however, if greed overpowered fear. Because if there was one thing everyone knew, the perpetrators were well-armed.
Would it have been worth it to hunt down some bandits?
Three hundred bezants was a good enough amount to get fat on. They were hoping that those who read the postings, which were immediately distributed among the people and pasted onto the walls, would focus on the rewards rather than the other less appealing portions.
Normally, the Council would have left this matter in the hands of the rangers.
However, two more rangers had been found dead in the outskirts of Protectorate City. Each decapitated, their bodies were barely recognizable with the sand covering them.
A wandering merchant caravan stumbled upon the pair of bodies, which were mutilated, whether it was before or after they were killed remained to be seen.
They were only recognized by the vagrant style of dress, their possession of a large assortment of weapons from pistols to sabers to axes, and personal badges that were inspired by the one that adorned Jolo Grossman’s hat.
It was interesting to note that the bandits were bold enough to attack the Rangers, who were possibly the best fighters in the City. They may have lacked formal training, but their experience made up for that. Seros and Jolo, the founders of the group, would often take new recruits and throw them into the middle of a group of bandits. If they lived, then they had some talent. If they didn't, well, it was pretty obvious they weren't going to be rangers. Beyond that, these people had no families, and were completely and utterly devoted to the cause of justice, a lofty motivation. They fought as though they were the last man standing, and if they were going down, they would take as many of their foes down with them.
It was all the more surprising when no other bodies were found beside the two dead lawmen.
The bodies were buried on orders of the Council. Secretly, the Council was actually pleased that the bandits were targeting the wandering lawmen. Their little conflict would keep them busy while they managed their own business without interference from Jolo and his people.
As to the location of the head, he was nowhere to be found, gone off in a wild goose chase as rumor had it.
Perhaps he was already dead. Killed by who?
The Council did not care.
They had to prepare for the horde of travelers arriving at the Dome. The man's fate was his own.