Of Times Not Lost (updated)

[Kilkenne]

Thunder boomed out across the waves as lightning split the sky, illuminating the now-deforested island. To call it an island at all, truthfully, was a stretch of words. The rocky outcropping and many like it extended beyond the eye's reach, stretching for leagues into oblivion. This was the realm of the deposed.

On that particular island, however, one pale light continued to show throughout the storm. A window in the highest reach of a tiny stone fortification shone as far as the eye could see through the sheets of rain. If one could see high enough, they could gaze upon the writer inside. The ferret murmured to himself and shot glances at the door as he scribbled furiously, putting quill to parchment with purpose. He would sometimes stop, glancing out the window at long stretches before happening upon an idea and beginning once again his work.

It has been eight years since my exile began. Since the day I was thrown down by Ereptor the Great. Since I fell from that accursed rampart. Since they found me and sent me  here. To live in squalor when I was once the true Emperor of the North. It should sicken even those of the strongest constitution to learn of the conditions to which I have been exposed. I have witnessed decimation of my force, to be sent to this rock with only a thousand at my back, after forcing a vow that I would never return to Mossflower's shores.

But this has all been recorded before, has it not? I must get to the news of the day. We have completed the necessary preparations, and will be leaving this place when the storm breaks. After having hacked down every tree on this atoll, we have found enough lumber to transport all of the Imperium across the waves. It is odd for me to think the word Imperium after it has been so long, but to get into the correct state of mind before my return is essential to the plan's success. Whatever passes for warlords these days need to be led. The benevolent rule of Shael of Torethevel has made them soft. These are not the Daughters of Delor of the past. They have all gotten complacent under her stewardship.

Perhaps this is why they have recalled the Leader of Will? That Kilkenne Ragingblade might sail home to his beloved North and establish his great Empire once more? Perhaps that is why the envoy arrived to our quiet island bearing an anonymous message. Naturally, they were not allowed to live, as they would not reveal their master. Even as they were put to death, their protestations rang hollow through my ears. Who could command such loyalty that their subjects act so clueless, even when being flayed alive? My pondering on this subject has led to many conclusions. There are leaders among the peoples still on the mainland who know my name only in legend, but more importantly some those who served in the Delor Independent Forces yet live. It is a curious happenstance indeed that they would feel the need to summon me back, assuring me that my ban had been lifted. Of course, the envoy informed me of the goings-on, and as to be expected, my verdict was reached immediately.

They require my order on the mainland. The require my leadership. They require the Imperium.

There will be violence. There will be blood. I will carve a path of gore the likes of which has not been seen in an era.

Kilkenne is coming, Mossflower. You could not be any less ready.

Upon finishing, the slate gray ferret picked the parchment up, examining it carefully before grinning, baring pearl-white fangs and slamming the document down with enough force to rattle the table. He quickly scrawled his name in flowing script across the bottom, nodding to himself in note to his own satisfaction. Finally, standing, he scanned the parchment once more before placing it at the end of a leather-bound volume, filled with loose pieces of parchment like the one he had just finished. Eight years' combined ramblings of one who is nearing on their last vestige of sanity.

After having deposited his charge, the once-Emperor turned to the window and gazed out upon the storm. Light was beginning to show through the clouds; the storm was breaking. He smirked before taking the book under his arm and leaving the room. The final preparations had to be made, they would leave in mere hours.

Kilkenne was coming back. And everyone would soon know.

((NOTE: Please don't post other IC stuff in this thread, comments are fine, but I want to get a few actual chapters (about double to triple this length if not a bit more) banged out, plus someone else is working on this with me, kinda working on a set schedule here))

[Daryn]

Wow, very nice. I'm waiting to see the rest of this.

Reading this makes me want to write my own thing of my own warlord.

[Kilkenne]

For twenty days and nights the small armada sailed East. The weather stayed clear, and it was a beautiful spring morning when land was sighted. The ships were careened onto the shore, their contents and crew laid out on the sand in orderly fashion. The soldiers scurried here and there, making certain that all was as ordered by their Lord, lest they fall victim to his moods.

Kilkenne finally emerged from the ship, paws stained with ink, several scrolls under his arm. He looked at the bright sky and breathed deeply, a smirk playing its way across his features as he took in the once-familiar scenery of the northern shores. As he stepped down the plank, his soldiers dropped what they were doing, in many cases literally, to position themselves prostrate before him. He nodded to them as he passed, purposefully strolling into a recently erected tent that was to be his temporary headquarters. Inside he found his captains dutifully studying a massive map of Mossflower and beyond, pointing and talking amongst themselves.

"Gentlebeasts." The ferret's eyes roved across their armour, perfectly polished, segmented plate chestpieces, his imperial standard for all soldiers. Only the black capes they wore marked them as any different than any other in his service. He nodded once to them.

The officers immediately snapped into position, paws flying to foreheads in a salute that they held until the ferret waved them at ease with a casual flick of his paw.

"I trust that you have devised something of worth for our first operation?" He cocked his head to one side, in an almost child-like fashion. Only his eyes betrayed malice.

The captains dutifully detailed, one by one, their suggestions as to how to proceed, and Kilkenne stayed silent, nodding after each one gave their report. Plans ranging from subterfuge to careful, steady progress were suggested, each captain implying carefully that the might of their current forces was not sufficient to make any real headway. The arrayed captains held their breath as he reached his verdict.

"No. None of that will do. Get each of your divisions ready for an assault. The nearest fiefdom will do. I care little for whom it is. We need land for our operations. I will address the army tonight. Form  by division, torches, the lot of it at nightfall. See this done." With that, he turned on his heel and left abruptly, throwing open the tent flap , the ferret feeling the eyes on his back as he stepped into the sun.

A short walk down the beach, a group of weasels huddled together, muttering amongst themselves whilst sketching in the sand with their weapons. They were dressed differently than the rest of the army, wearing brown hooded cloaks. Upon the arrival of their warlord, the weasels, like all army commoners immediately prostrated themselves, effectively destroying the sketch of Mossflower they had been creating.

"At ease, my seekers. I have a task for each of you." He nodded and smiled nonchalantly as the weasels reluctantly looked up, and eventually stood. "You are each to be given one of these scrolls, and you are to take it to the addressee by any means known to you. If I find that you have failed to deliver the missive, or if it has been opened, my Marauders will go to hell itself to bring you back to me. Are we clear?"

A score of "Yes, Lord!" responses rang through his remaining ear. He handed the scrolls to the nearest of the trackers and returned to the cabin aboard his ship. Kilkenne checked his list, mentally noting that he had indeed written to each of the following; Orcrist the Vengeful, Ragefur the Deceiver, the strangely-named "windhounds", Commander Raine Valthurak of the Sovereign Guard, General Austin of the Northern Hordes, and a handful of others, to name a few. Satisfied, he returned the parchment to its desk and only gave the matter light thought as he prepared his own armour.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

As the sun set upon the camp, every member of the Horde were arrayed across the sands. Mostly stoats, with a scattering of other races, the army looked nearly identical. The massive, curved shields they carried were clearly freshly marked; Black with a maroon cross in the center, the symbol of their Lord. In addition to their shield, each carried a short sword, and on their backs were strapped javelins. Every third beast at the time held a torch aloft, casting an eerie glow to match the utter silence.

As the sun finally slipped beneath the horizon, the leader of the horde stepped to the bow of the ship, all eyes looking up to him as the arrayed beasts below immediately dropped to a knee. The ferret was dressed just as one of their own, the only difference being the massive scimitar in his paw that he gesticulated with as he spoke.

His voice rang loud across the beach, the flames of the torches glittering in his eyes. "Eight years of exile, and now we are back in our beloved home. Each of you is a remnant of an era that is long past. I am a remnant of an era long past. But we are not forgotten. There should be no fear in your hearts, for tonight we begin the reclaimation of our lands. Ours by right, taken from us from betrayal from within! The utter insult of being cast across the sea and forgotten should fuel you as it fuels me. Each and every one of you is an extension of my reach. Tonight we reclaim what is ours. We shall carve a path of blood and bring ORDER to these shores. It is your RIGHTEOUS DUTY as the chosen warriors of the EMPIRE to bring all misguided HERETICS under our rule!"

The horde below him roared their approval, which was silenced immediately by a wave of paw. "First, however, we must tend to...internal affairs." He smirked, looking directly down at his captains, closest to the ship, one at the head of each column. "Your captains." He nodded at his own words. " They, too, seek to command you. But you are loyal to me, you are all loyal to the Imperium. Show where each of your loyalties lie. They have outlived their usefulness. Kill them."

The ferret's maniacal laughter was drowned by the screams of the dying as the enlisted butchered their commanding officers.

Mere minutes after the violence, the army was on the march.

[Krowdon]

(This is really interesting. How often do you plan on updating it?)

[Kilkenne]

Whenever I get 30-45 minutes to sit down and knock out 1500 or so words I'll work on it, someone else is gonna post the next chapter, I'm hoping ot get 2-3 posts up a week as time permits.

[The Lady Shael]

Outside the castle, the grounds were decorated spectacularly. Garlands of flowers hung on the castle walls and somewhere in the back, ceremonial drums were pounding a steady beat.  Scores of warlords with their legions of vermin behind them lined the aisle leading to the clearing at the front. It was the peak of afternoon, with the sun glinting off ceremonial armor and the wind blowing gently, carrying leaves to be strewn across my path.

Inside, my heart was pounding furiously and my thoughts were racing faster than a salmon swimming downstream. I had to consciously hold my head up high and still and ensure the only emotion displayed was a slight smile on my lips. Luckily, I was a natural at holding myself regally, having been born into the Southsward royal empire. Even so, I was certain somebeast had to notice my left footpaw twitching or the irregularity in my breathing. But there was another feeling churning deep inside that made it hard to concentrate on putting one paw in front of the other...an overwhelming sensation of exhilaration.

It was finally happening. I, Shael Varonne, was becoming the first Empress, and youngest ruler, of Mossflower Country and beyond.

I tried not to walk too fast or too eagerly towards the front, to where the rulers and keepers of the Warlord Castle stood. Boze, Spigot, and of course Stormclaw of Delor, my adopted brother who took me in and gave me the name Delor, stood equally spaced apart, patiently waiting for my solo procession to reach the front.

Trying my best to use peripheral vision, my eyes scanned the aisle for familiar faces. A slate gray ferret with a large scimitar tied to his waist managed to catch my eye, and gave me a knowing smile. Kilkenne Ragingblade, one of my fellow young warlords. He wasn't much older than I was, but he had already begun to command attention from many of the seasoned officers even though he had yet to prove himself. I was certain the alliance with his Militia would prove to be beneficial.

Next to him, a sturdy pine marten winked at me. It took all the strength I had to keep my regal composure and not give him one of my usual eyerolls. What else would you expect from Raine Valthurak, of the Sovereign Guard? Recently he had been corresponding with me more often than usual since hearing that I was ascending to the throne and the considerable fortune I was receiving because of it. Stormclaw had made known his disapproval of me getting close to Raine (he believed Raine was just after the Delor fortune), but I knew he was obligated to be the overprotective older brother. It was kind of him, really, but I knew what I was doing.

On the other side of the aisle, more familiar faces watched as I passed by. windhounds, quiet but fiercely loyal. Orcrist, another emerging leader who was rapidly gaining respect from vermin around the country. Calria Ulloa, my fellow female commander, always dependable and feared amongst many of the male vermin. General Austin, from the north, one of my good friends, always helpful and one that you knew you did not want to cross. A little behind them stood Ereptor, and next to him Ragefur. Of course not everyone thought I was fit to assume the throne. Ereptor had always doubted my abilities, and there was no encouraging smile or warm feeling in his eyes as he looked on. Ragefur gave him a nudge as if to say 'Lighten up', and he started tapping his paw to the drum and tried to give his best warm, wide grin as the procession continued.

At last I reached the edge of the front clearing and I knelt down in front of Stormclaw, my cape spread out behind me. I didn't know how much longer I could wait. I was already getting restless with the pace of the ceremony and fanfare. Even though I had finally achieved what I had always wanted, the recognition of Empress-ship, a part of me deep inside thirsted for the chaos of the battlefield. And I knew this was what was in the heart of every single beast present...we lived for war. That was when we felt most alive.

The drums stopped and I looked up from my kneeling position. Stormclaw began to speak.

"Milady..."

His right-paw weasel came forward with the crown on a faded cushion.

"If you could just take this..."

He lifted the crown from the cushion and held it high, the sunlight reflecting off the jewels restlessly. I could sense the jealousy behind me and I relished it. This was it, finally...

"You need to sign here, Milady."

The female weasel was brought sharply (and painfully) back to the present. She looked at the hawk feather quill in her paw and the parchment document in front of her. Right...this was her life now.

Her faithful right-paw officer, Rayla, was giving her leader an expectant look. Rayla had served her from the beginning and since the Daughters' retirement from battle, she had been much less apprehensive about approaching her leader with outstanding tasks. Maybe too comfortable. Shael was not certain if that was a good or bad thing.

"What is this about, Rayla?" The weasel in charge of all warlord matters was not happy about being disturbed from her daydream.

Rayla patted her mistress' shoulder and smiled, "Another daydream, milady?" Shael froze. She looked her subordinate in the eyes coldly from where she was sitting and enunciated sharply, "Don't. Touch. Me."

The standing weasel recoiled instantly, instinctively obedient, but couldn't stop the surprised expression on her face. "I-I'm sorry, many apologies, I thought-"

Shael spoke bluntly, uncharacteristic of her well-known benevolent personality. "You thought wrong. Don't ever do that again. Don't forget, we aren't equals." As soon as she saw the confused look on her inferior's face turn into disappointment, the ex-Empress started to regret speaking so harshly. But she didn't show it on her face. She paused, then decided to give a swift apology. "I'm sorry, Rayla. I was reminiscing about seasons past. You know I miss those times."

Rayla tried her best to give the feeling of being comforting without looking like it, but knew it wasn't a good idea to speak. She was used to be lashed out at by Shael, and she would never resent her mistress for doing so. They had been through much together, and Shael seemed to have a knack for holding her respect at daggerpoint. Those who stayed in the Lady's good graces were rewarded. The difficult part was knowing where you stood in respect to her boundaries.

Shael glanced back down at the parchment. It was a new decree on the maximum clan size. She signed it quickly and thrust it towards Rayla. "Go, leave me." The poor weasel scurried off quickly to post the decree, mentally noting not to bother her lady for the rest of the day.

As soon as Rayla closed the door behind her, Shael slumped back in her chair and gazed out the window of her den. Is this really what my life has become? she thought. I thought I had everything I wanted. This whole time... ever since I came here from the Southern Islands, I relentlessly pursued my quest for power, and I have achieved it. She stroked the hawk feather quill thoughtfully. So why don't I feel fulfilled?

The Daughters of Delor, the renowned female horde of warriors, were now the keepers of the Warlord's Castle, and responsible for carrying out the greater tasks of the Mossflower kingdom. It had been many seasons since any of them had participated in a real war, the armor and weapons with the Delor crest they wore were simply for show. They hadn't bothered with any formal battle training any longer; there was no point. Shael Varonne had retired from battle.

Tossing the quill back on her desk, the weasel stood and grabbed her cloak from the door hook. Time to mingle with the lower ranks. Maybe I'll hear something... she thought, fastening her cloak around her shoulders.

As she made her way down from her turret, through the familiar hallways where battle plans were formulated, and where clan alliances were once created and destroyed, she let her thoughts wander again, yearning to be back in the daydream she was in earlier. Recalling whatever she could, she let the memories play through, hoping that by being close to them would make them more real.

"Milady, Raine is here again."

My heart started pounding and I stood up a little too quickly. "Tell him to come in." I straightened my dress and adjusted random objects on my desk.

The marten stepped in with a flourish and gave an exaggerated bow. "Good afternoon, milady! You look as regal as ever on that shiny new throne of yours." He gave his best charming smile, and I hated to admit it was working.

"Afternoon, Raine. So I'm sure you have heard about the new fortune I've acquired, and you mentioned the Conquerers' League was having financial troubles?" As new Empress I was eager to make a good impression. I needed to make sure I had everyone on my side.

"Oh troubles in the mildest sense of the word, milady. But I mean, there are rumors that you are now in the possession of 50 billion cash... surely it can't hurt to spare just 20 percent?"

I thought about it, and he had a point. What else was I going to do with all this cash? I reached for my quill...

Dust swirled in the sunlight as Shael moved down the hallway, and she mentally berated her younger self. She was young and foolish then, too easily taken in, and too willing to please. I'm certain I've improved since then...right? she tried to reassure herself.

I had just entered the castle, back from my long journey discussing alliances in the north. One of the Daughters burst through a side door, and grabbed my arm and tried to force me back out the way I came. "There's no time to explain, Milady! You must leave!" I was about to indignantly demand she let go of me, but the desperate urgency in her eyes struck me dumb. I decided to go with her and let her explain as we ran.

"Ragefur has deceived you. He took the throne while you were gone! We must leave immediately!" My head started spinning, why did it feel like the walls were collapsing in me? Chaos started breaking out, my own fighters trying to hold their own around me and failing, the survivors fleeing...

As she passed the dusty portraits of the previous Emperors, Haruvar, Orcrist and others, she gave a brief glance at Ragefur's portrait. She had learned her lesson from that experience. One had to be willing to make mistakes to be great. Her chin raised an inch. It had not been an easy journey to get to this position of power.

Still, there was an aching empty void inside her that had been empty for so long. The camaraderie of securing alliances with other fearsome but respected warlords, fighting side-by-side them in season long battles. The thrill of espionage and the unexplainable elation of watching chaos unfold as backstabbers were revealed. Chaos. That was it. There just wasn't enough of it.

As she turned a corner, she saw a couple of the Daughters, two stoats, at their post by the grand entrance, obviously in the middle of a relaxed conversation, as there wasn't much else to do these days.

"It's only a rumor, but Visha never stretches the truth-" "What will that mean for us? I'm not sure we could-"

At that moment they saw their Lady emerge from the side hallway and they straightened up quickly. "Good day milady! Out for a walk?" the first stoat called out.

Shael waved her paw informally, motioning to stay at ease. Reconnaissance was the object of this mission. "Yes, yes, something like that." She moved closer and leaned on the banister. "So sorry to eavesdrop, but I thought I overheard something about a rumor?" She tried to give as disinterested tone as she could. "Just curious." she added.

The second stoat spoke up at once, having been a long admirer of Shael's influence and was eager to make an impression. "Oh yes, milady. Apparently there news that just reached the castle today that the Marauders have broken their exile, and are heading to the Northlands."

"You don't say! Kilkenne's Marauders?"

The first Daughter who spoke nervously shifted her weight, aware of the history between her Lady and Kilkenne Ragingblade. "Yes milady, the very same. It seems somebeast sent an envoy to summon him back."

The weasel raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. "Did anyone hear who sent the missive? It could only be one who served in the Great Wars from so long ago..."

"Yes milady, er- I mean, no-" the poor stoat fumbled over her words and her partner quickly came to her rescue. "What she means, milady, is that the no one knows who sent it, but we do realize it could only be one of a few, one who knew of the legend of Ragingblade and with the knowledge of his whereabouts." The stoat suddenly held her tongue, hoping she hadn't said too much.

"I see," Shael mused. "This is certainly interesting." The female weasel turned away, cloak sweeping around, and began walking up the grand staircase, towards the ancient war rooms.

The two female guards at the bottom of the staircase glanced at each other. Both of them had a burning desire to call after Shael and ask what it meant, but something about the weasel's change in aura silenced them. There was something familiar about it....

Shael felt the excitement rushing through her blood, resolve and confidence in her every step. He's coming back, and he's sure to call the others... she thought elatedly. My message worked... now it's only a matter of time...



((Holy ferreting ferrets, that was a lot of writing. You can tell at a glance I got tired of the descriptions later on. Did not proofread btw so forgive any non sequiturs))

((also the events in the flashbacks really happened, if any of you were wondering))

[Vargarth]

Wow. Nice Shael. I have to tell you THAT is being PRODUCTIVE at work.  :wink:

[edit: removed quote, cause it was taking up space. -Shael]

[Kilkenne]

The column stretched for what seemed to be miles into infinity. Everybeast walked in perfect step to the sound of relentlessly pounding drums. The organization was flawless. As the procession progressed further down the time-worn path, it soon became clear as to their real goal. Rising out of the distance in the far northern mountains, the remains of a once-mighty fortress thrust upward into the sky. The broken and crumbling battlements could be seen clear as day as the army advanced.

At the column's front, Kilkenne strode boldly. He was in high spirits after having in a season's time gained dominion over the largest portion of his beloved Northlands. His new-found enemies lay broken at his feet, and he had begun to establish diplomatic relations to consolidate his power. Finally, he was returning to his old seat.

Two days forced march after their conquest had brought them back to his true former home. The army was beginning to tire, but their goal was in plain sight. Eventually, their Lord leading them, they had made it to the citadel. Very few of them had seen the mountain fortress, and fewer still had served in the Imperial Forces when the empire was at its former peak. They had expected a place of finery and luxury. Not a windswept graveyard.

Corpses, stripped to skeletal, armoured remains laid all around. Many bore the very same symbols, the curved tower shields, the short swords that as the battalion that was allowed inside found, they too wore. Others among the dead bore the Black Hand of Ereptor. It was curious to note that the losses appeared mostly equal, and more curiously, nothing appeared to have been touched since the previous fall, only time had worn down the flesh of the former defenders and their aggressors.

*         *         *

Kilkenne was in elation as he toured the fortress. His citadel had not been claimed, and he felt that in a matter of days he could return it to a place fit for his living. As he strode through the ruin, his new captains nervously followed behind. They had been nervous ever since the last two batches of promotions had been brutally slaughtered on a whim when they had displeased their master. Still, they endeavored to hold themselves at a higher standard of behavior. It was important to them; for their Warlord was a living God.

The dust of eight years' absence swirled, stirred into the light of the great hall as the leader and his promoted made their way into the Great Hall. The tables were upturned, and like in most parts they had seen, the dead lay everywhere.

"Leave me." There had been no words spoken since they had marched through the front gate. The ferret turned, for the first time since they had arrived acknowledging the existence of anybeast other than himself during his explorations. "You will begin organizing at once to bring the Citadel back to working order. Clear these corpses, take some responsibility. Begin doing your jobs as officers. You have some autonomy, but remember who is in charge. Do not disappoint me." Kilkenne cocked his head to the side and looked to the vaulted ceiling as if deep in thought. "See that the food that we have sacked makes its way into the larders, and not down the throats of your soldiers until everything is counted. Once we have returned this place of power to its true glory, we will discuss new orders. This is my will. See it done." The ferret's eyes burned with an intensity that had become familiar to them. His orders were erratic, but not unreasonable this time, and they were glad of that.

After watching the officers depart, the ferret continued his explorations. He noted with delight that he was seeing more and more of the cleaning crews organized as the minutes stretched into hours of touring his old home.

Upon reaching the west battlements, however, the ferret suddenly dropped to all fours, an anguished, guttural yell escaping his lips. The memory flooded back at once, shattering the ferret's composure. Disjointed fragments  flowed freely through his mind.

*         *         *

It was a clear winter morning, the last night's snow swirling over the battlements. All had been going well at present, the soldiers surmised. Their Emperor was in high spirits, and had deemed fit that all of the garrison be rewarded due to the news of the Foreign Legion's success. A feast was in order, for they had received news that the bulk of the army had routed Ereptor's forces.

But change comes swiftly to those who least expect it. It began with a sentinel spotting smoke on the horizon. Soon after, messages began arriving. In the previous week, from whence there had been no report, the army had not just been routed, but had been slaughtered to the beast. The Marauders were dead, and Ereptor was coming to wreak bloody vengeance upon the one who had dared defy his might.

In his chambers, Kilkenne Ragingblade solemnly penned his last missive. He scratched at the parchment slowly, deliberately, as he contemplated his mortality. Orcrist and General Austin were to take over his duties as the leader of the Free Forces of Mossflower after his demise. There was no escaping, he would not have it that way. He had entrusted command of his army to his generals, and they had failed him, and now his order was at its twilight. It had all just happened so fast, he mused.

Within hours, smoke was spotted on the horizon. Settlements for miles around were being put to the torch, and a steady stream of refugees was becoming an unending torrent of wounded soldiers, fleeing the wrath of Ereptor as their garrisons were butchered. These soldiers under any other circumstance would be executed for cowardice. Now, that order hardly seemed to matter.

"My Lord, you must flee. There is no way that we can withstand this –"

The guard captain was silenced with a wave of the ferret's paw. They were seated in the Great Hall, all officers arrayed at the long table, their Lord at its head. Each was dressed in full battle regalia, their gleaming armour and weapons soon to be put to purpose.

"I had a dream, once." The Emperor of the North began. "It was a vision. This that we enjoy now was that vision. Then we, as you all know, were just the Marauders. You were all a part of that, and we enjoyed success. But I had this vision of order. And we have seen it fulfilled." The cold blue eyes of Kilkenne swept the faces of his officers. "We have brought order to the land, and have left what I feel to be a lasting legacy. It is a shame that after today chaos will reign supreme. We go now to our end. But we will make them remember what we have done. I promise that our sacrifice will be sung into eternity. Ready the garrison. We fight to the last beast. See this done."

As the words sunk in, the arrayed officers, stoats with a scattering of weasels avoided the gaze of their commander. They had always operated under auspicious circumstances. Death had never seemed like a reality to them. The Marauders had never failed before, and the Imperial Rule was absolute in the North. In only a day, their world had come crashing down, and this was the end. Dutifully they stood one by one, bowing to the ferret, filing out of the room to ready the defenses.

The longest two days of their lives had followed. The Black Hordes had laid siege to the Citadel but until this instant, the defenders had stood firm. Finally, under weight of numbers with a great ram, the gates were broken. Rats streamed into the gap, relentlessly pushing forward even as they were cut down by arrow fire. Within minutes, the arrows had ceased, the forward battlements taken.

The rout was absolute. Within an hour, the last surviving defenders were relegated to the West rampart. They held their ground as the hordes streamed to the walls as best they could, each bleeding from a dozen wounds as they made their final stand.

Kilkenne gave no regard for his personal safety as he threw himself upon the minions of Ereptor. It was the spear that appeared to grow from his side that finally stopped his onslaught. The ferret's eyes lit with rage as he knew his end drew near.

*         *         *

He awoke in his chambers later that evening, bewildered at how he came to them. Naught but happenstance after Ereptor's hordes had departed, and eight years of exile later, he was home. And that was enough.

[Kilkenne]

It had been only two short weeks since the triumphant conqueror had returned to what he felt was now his rightful home. In these two weeks, the fortress had been furnished with looted trappings fit for the most discerning of regents, looted from the shattered kingdoms left upon the Northern coast. Massive black banners hung from the walls, bearing a crimson KM legend, the "M" just below the "K", and slightly connected to create an affect that was more symbol than letter.

Hordebeasts milled about engaging in their daily activities with duty and purpose. A cadre of weasels stood guard as a gang of manacled rats worked to reconstruct a portion of the western wall, clearly fearful of their armed tormentors. Every few moments, an anguished cry would ring out as if to punctuate the crack of a whip.

The air was cold, but not unpleasant, Kilkenne thought as he strolled through the courtyard, nodding with a slight smirk to every set of soldiers that would notice his presence and prostrate themselves until he was out of eyesight. This was the life that had been taken from him, he mused, one of rigid military order. The weak were subjugated by the strong, the purposeless were led by those with superior will.

"Milord! A moment!" The newly promoted captain of the guard, a stoat, whose name escaped Kilkenne at the moment stood, panting before the regent. Two stoats of the guard stood dutifully behind the captain. The identically equipped soldiers held their swords cautiously to the back of a what was clearly a fox, but cloaked in flowing black robes.

"This one was brought in not far from the Citadel. He claims that he and you have...business." The stoat's mouth suddenly felt very dry as he remembered the punishment for bothering his lord unnecessarily.

A brow curiously raised, Kilk studied the captain then cocked his head curiously as he looked at the fox. The identity of the creature was shrouded in the hood that covered most of his features, just the faintest hint of the shape of his snout peaking from under the shadow of the hood. He looked the newcomer up and down once, appraising him. His eyes fixated on a small symbol on the button of the cloak's clasp. Not unlike his adopted "KM" insignia, it was clearly two letters, arranged in much the same way.

The ferret waved a paw dismissively to the three guards. "Leave us. We do indeed have...business. You did right in bringing him to me." He nodded his satisfaction, the smirk returning to his features as he started walking at a brisk pace in the direction of the keep, not bothering to see if the mysterious figure was following him.

Wordlessly the two made their way to his chambers, the fox staying a measured two paces behind the ferret, glancing this way and that as they made their way up the winding stairs and down long halls. Finally, the ferret stopped at a massive oaken door. Positioned at either side, two guards, identical in every way to the ones seen previously thrust the door open and prostrated themselves as Kilkenne waved his guest into the massive torch-lit room, acting the gracious host.

Following the guest into the room, he strode directly to a massive table positioned in the center of the room. Upon the table was pinned a massive map, spanning from their location in the Northlands down to the southern Islands. There were notes scrawled across the map, and parts of it were covered by copies of missives that had been sent, or were yet to be finished.

"You took a great risk in coming here the way you did." The ferret said coldly, not bothering to look up at the fox, who was busying himself lowering his hood. Both their eyes darted across the map, and he knew the fox was mentally making notes on his troop movements and the espionage reports arrayed across the geography.

"You know me. If there's no risk then the reward is worth nothing. Besides, I'm far too valuable to kill." Kilk didn't have to look up at the fox to know that he was grinning triumphantly across the table at him. The ferret sighed inaudibly and went straight to business.

Over the next several hours, the day bled into afternoon. Afternoon became evening, and before anyone knew, it was late at night. Neither of the two felt any desire to cease their hushed, hurried discussion regarding the diplomatic intricacies of Mossflower at present. After long last, the two finally made eye contact for what seemed to be the first time, each extending a paw. They shook once, and after having slipped a scroll into the folds of his cloak, the fox departed the chambers. A sharp call after him brought the two door guards to the fox's side, escorting him from the fortress.

Kilkenne slumped exhaustedly into a chair, sitting for the first time in hours, studying the ceiling. Light from a dozen torches cast shadows throughout the room. Had he just signed away his autonomy for power? The concept seemed far-fetched, but considering the news he had just received, this seemed like it might be a fair trade. Besides, the True Emperor had returned, he mused. He would show them all his real worth in the end. Diplomacy be damned, they would understand his might if it came to that.

He sighed wearily, sitting forward to examine for the umpteenth time the copies of missives he had sent to his former comrades. While most had responded, all but a handful were less than enthusiastic about serving with him again on the battlefield. The ferret tapped his claws against the large map as he read down his list for what must have been the thousandth time this month. So far there were too few, but at least he had tentative promises from all parties involved.

Stretching uncomfortably, Kilk picked up a quill and searched for a blank parchment. The slate-gray ferret realized that he still had his armoured regalia on from the morning. He sighed once more, shaking his head at his own discomfort. He would have never complained a decade ago about spending an entire day wearing the chestpiece and cape. Finally, after enough stalling, Kilkenne set himself to his one final task before he would resign himself to one of the short, tormented naps that had passed for sleep for years.


Lady Shael Varonne,

I do hope this letter finds you well. I have heard much of your administration since I have returned.

It would be a great surprise to me if you were not already long aware of my return from exile. If indeed you know this, you must be aware of my re-establishment of order in the North. But I am not penning this to you to describe triumphs of which you are likely already aware.

At my invitation, I would be honored if you would join my court and observe and partake in a celebration of my return to power. I am certain that you will be most pleased with the accommodations. Anything and everything can be provided by my servants, but you are welcome to bring your own, should you not trust my judgment.

I would be most remiss, however, to not mention that we do have sensitive business to discuss. I understand that you have become inactive in the trivial matters of day-to-day army leadership, but there is still much that you and I can work on. This by no means obligates you to any of my affairs, I just ask that you come and speak to me in the flesh about them.

As a final show of my sincerity, please feel free to command the troops that deliver this message as your own. Due to the importance of this matter, the normal diplomatic envoy will be followed by the entirety of one of my battalions. As you do not now appear to have a proper army yourself, and the roads are dangerous. They may be of some use to you.

Kilkenne Ragingblade

Without looking at the parchment a second time, the ferret quickly rolled and sealed it. He was not sure how this would be received, and figured he would find out in due time. Task completed, he finally took to bed, giving the matter precious little more thought by way of forcing it from his mind. There were more important things to worry about, not the least of which stemming from his affairs with the mysterious fox.

[The Lady Shael]

It was a chilly autumn morning. The Daughters had not slept the previous night, but kept on preparing for battle showing no signs of fatigue or need to rest. They were used to this; since becoming the authoritative ruling horde of Mossflower Country, it strengthened their morale and confidence. This was key if we wanted Mossflower to stay in our grasp.

I made my way between the tents flanked by two officers, heading towards the General's Hut. As the ruling army, we had set up a semi-permanent camp on the Mossflower Plains, near the forest. A liberal amount of guards were positioned around the borders, ready to sound the alarm bells if we came under attack. Around me, the Daughters were devotedly carrying out their tasks: sharping weapons, practicing their fighting against dummies, preparing food for the others. As I passed each of them, they stopped what they were doing to face me and kneel, then as soon as they were behind me, they quickly stood and resumed their task. Such loyalty was hard-earned, but they knew anyone who dissented or who could not keep up would never escape the inevitable suffering. A twisted balance of fear and admiration was the perfect recipe for subservience.

At the General's Hut, my Leaders brought to me the plans they had laid out. They had already organized a band of soldiers to carry bags of poison into the nearby army, which was led by Dead Eye. We had espionaged his camp long ago; he was getting too close for comfort and needed to kept down. The poisoners would also be accompanied by a unit of assassins, to swiftly and expertly murder a small amount of his soldiers as they slept as a warning of how much damage we were capable of. If he tried to send his armies to retaliate, more assassin units would be hidden nearby... not to engage in violent battle, but to sneak in and finish off the troops he had left behind. My face showed no emotion as I sat straight in my chair listening, eyes narrowed, but inside it was difficult to contain my exhilaration. I knew being the ruler of Mossflower was my rightful place... I wasn't about to let anyone take it from me again.

"Send these plans to Kilkenne, along with a status of our military actions and a shipment of cash and food," I directed to my generals. "No doubt he will be preparing to face off Ereptor soon, we must give him as much assistance as we can afford. Remember, Daughters," I enunciated louder, and faces who weren't looking at me suddenly snapped quickly in my direction. "Our hold on Mossflower will only prevail as long as the Marauders are still alive. You are dismissed." They bowed, and quickly left to carry out their orders.

They must keep their courage, I thought. If they knew how bad the situation truly was, they would fight only with half a heart. We can't lose this war...

------------------------------------------------------

It was a warm summer afternoon in Mossfower Country. The once empress of Mossflower Country paced through the castle on her daily rounds, tending to her administrative duties, although it was clear her mind was elsewhere. Every so often, a soldier would come up to her and ask her a question or ask for her signature on a decree.

"Milady, Commander Neobaron sent a request to formally change the name of his horde."

"Here are the results of yesterday's lottery and skiff races, Milady. Lady Krowdon won yet again! I wonder what she feeds those skiffs..."

"We just need you to sign here to put the new Aid Credit Decree in effect, Milady."

"windhound approved the new market changes, Milady, we are heading there now to notify the workers."

"A new warlord wishes to register, Milady."

"Milady Shael, can you sign here?"

"I just need your opinion, Milady."

It was no different than any other day, and normally she enjoyed directing these duties... but today it felt more like a prison of obligation*. She paced across the main hall, her steps quick with pent up energy. This impatience is unbearable, she thought. I realize now this is not what I had in mind when I wanted to rule Mossflower. She glanced at the war room doors as she passed by, its handles crusted with dust. This is absurd, I should have heard something by now. I need to go back to my quarters and think about all this.

She made a left at the end of the hallway instead of her usual right to continue her rounds. One of the few male soldiers in the castle came running up behind her. "Milady, please!" Shael trembled with frustration, paws clenched. She stopped in her tracks but did not turn around. "NO! No more signatures today!"

The poor rat soldier cowered, not expecting such a powerful outburst. He contemplated turning and sprinting away as fast as he could, and then spending the rest of the afternoon convincing himself that this never happened. But luckily for him, he correctly judged the importance of his current duty, and stood his ground. "Pardon Mi^lady," one of the syllables came out as a squeak so he cleared he throat and tried again, "Pardon Milady... this is not a signature, but a personal letter from Kilkenne Ragingblade himself."

At that, Shael's eyes widened suddenly and she turned on the spot to face the soldier. "Hand me the letter," she demanded. As she read it, the soldier summoned the courage to speak again. "The battalion is waiting outside, ready to travel at a moment's notice." He willed himself to relax, but did not feel quite safe enough yet to let down his guard.

The female weasel rolled up the parchment and nodded at the soldier. "You did well. Tell Rayla to meet me outside the walls in no more than an hour."

"She's already there, Milady."


In no more than an hour, a battalion of the Marauders and three dozen of the Daughters who had kept up their fighting skills set out for the Northlands. Shael, garbed in her old traveling tunic and armed with her shortsword at her waist, could not believe she had ever forgotten how beautiful the Mossflower Woods was, with the tall oak and spruce trees stretched almost out of sight, forming a thick canopy that made it feel like they had stepped into a different world. The comforting smell of the loam beneath her paws, the moss and lichen growing on the fallen trees...after being confined to the castle for so long, she had forgotten how alive one could feel being so close to nature.

One of the Marauder captains walked by her side. "It should be no more than a week's journey. We expect to encounter no troublemakers along the way, but it was Lord Kilkenne's orders that we take no chances."

Shael nodded, eyes focused on the path ahead. "Understood. We will cover as much ground as we can by day, by night you and your fellow soldiers will retrain my own soldiers in combat. They have practiced their techniques diligently, but it has been many seasons since they have seen a real battle."

"As you wish, Milady."

The traveling party continued through the forest silently, in narrow file. Shael was anxious to reach the Northlands citadel to learn what matters Kilkenne had to discuss, but suddenly she thought with a pang, I wonder if headquarters can manage without me? No, of course they will, she chastised herself. I cannot let my thoughts weaken like this anymore. This is a new era, and I /will/ be there to take the victory.





*Note I do not really feel this way kthnx