Fall, 1325

Reinhard Bormann, the Grandmaster of the Knights Constantine, was frustrated.

Pouring over the map of Nalbin, he could see chaos everywhere: agrarian rebels in Breakshire, Freeland rebels in the wooded and mountainous fringes of Pometia, Corioli, Cnaeus, Volscia, Antium, even Alba, goblins were sweeping throughout the Piedmont from Antium to Pometia, the Other Men bearing down on the Northern colonies and Tulusculum growing restless. A kingdom could not sustain itself like this, a people could not thrive in a state of constant disorder. Bormann expected King John Walker to eventually take control of his lands. He himself commanded the Militant Monk Order with an iron fist, and he expected nothing else. The Grandmaster kept his Order busy, clearing the roads of highwaymen, protecting pilgrims, maintaining hospitals, and also purging the land of pagans, heretics, witches and unholy demons. Inevitably, the campaigns of his knights would end in a trail of bodies, human and otherwise. The Grandmaster was tough, he was cruel, but he was fair and he only saw victories.

People throughout Auxia feared the Knights Constantine, and they feared him. The Old Bad Man, everyone called the Grandmaster, though not to his face. Bormann was sure even the king was afraid of him.

Bormann smiled inwardly at that. That was good. The boy king needs to grow a spine. He would eventually teach his ruler how to act.

The Grandmaster paused his frustrations to muse a bit about how Auxia had got to this state.

King Herbert Walker had done a reasonable job holding the Kingdom of Auxia together, especially after the disaster of his predecessor brother in trying to cleanse the Back Valley. Cleansing the wilderness was a good idea, mobilizing the best troops and clearing out the Royal treasury for a long campaign into the Wilds was not, and for the last forty-odd years Reinhard Bormann had helped King Herbert clear up that mess. Now the old king was dead, and without proper guidance his son John was becoming a disaster like his uncle. King Sebastian was a headstrong zealot, King Herbert was a colorless accountant, and now King John was a wastrel spendthrift.

If he had the time, Grandmaster Reinhard Bormann would have ridden over to Caldern Castle himself, storm the keep, and beat some sense into his liege. Unfortunately since the old king’s death the Satraps of Brekshire and Volscia revolted, followed quickly by the insane agrarian rebels known as the Freeland Brothers. By the time the Knights Constantine had beat back down the upstarts five years had been wasted that could have been spent disciplining the petulant child ruler.

The Old Bad Man would need to make up for lost time.

Grandmaster Bormann scanned the map back to the ancient city of Caldern.

Every year since taking power King John had ordered a new creature to be brought down from the mountains and then amuse himself in killing it in a ceremonial hunt at the start of the Spring Festival- to remind the people of Caldern that he was the king, by divine right. Grandmaster Bormann always scoffed at this; a child playing a child’s game, a facade to be humored for the king. The Knights Constantine always sent their warriors to participate, for training and educational purposes if for nothing else. King John's Royals usually did manage to capture exotic beings for the king to enjoy: the good folk of Caldern have seen gladiatorial fights involving panthers, lions, aurochs, bears, elephants, dire wolves, cyanos, pixies, Sabines, ogres, rattas, caprines, ixions, occasionally gryphons, manticores, even a unicorns in recent history. And goblins. Oh so many goblins. The Grandmaster shook his head.

Still, if a new creature of the Wilds were uncovered by his order, the Knights Constantine had been told in no uncertain terms to eliminate the demonic entity immediately, lest the spawn grow out of control. Bormann was firm on this. Small devils could not be a distraction from fighting the great darkness itself.

At that thought, the Grandmaster shifted focus on the map to a small region between Northern Pometia and Corioli.

There were rumors of a powerful dragon that had newly appeared in the River Triangle, in a lonely town called Stanton. That it had defeated all would be dragonslayers and had imposed a reign of terror upon the lands. Some said it had destroyed an entire army sent to kill it. Some said it controlled the goblins now sweeping through the Piedmont. Some said it had even attacked Lord Fairfax of Corioli in his own castle. The king, as he was liable to do, seemed to have taken notice of the stories, and had called on his Royal forces to capture it for the Spring Festival.

Bormann did not like it. Another dangerous variable. The dragon, whatever it does, was evil and should be killed as quickly as possible. He needed to act immediately against it. Before the boy king could endanger himself and everyone else in Auxia.

Suffer not a demon to live.

The leader of the order turned to one of his subordinates standing guard outside his door.

“Bailiwick Krune.”

The guard walked forward and knelt. “Yes, master?”

“Alert Land Master Frederick to march on Stanton with his host. There is an evil about, a great wyrm that is said to be spreading terror throughout the land. Tell him to see if the stories are true, and if so, to kill it. If necessary, ignore orders from the king or the king’s men to do so. Suffer not a demon on our lands.”

“I will do as you say, master. Glory to the word of the heavens.”

“Glory to the word of the heavens.”

Grandmaster Bormann then shifted his focus to the goblins in Cnaeus.

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U2 - Exit

Doodle from  theDinosaurmann!

Yes he's based on Peter Cushing lol