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Fall, 1332
With the terms of unconditional surrender accepted by the Regent’s Council, the Great War finally ended with the Tassurian Empire defeated and all but destroyed. The last of the Tassurian armies had been crushed- and General Carmel killed- in the brave but futile attempt to defend the great Imperial capital, leaving only scattered, poorly-trained forces to dissolve by themselves through desertion or localized surrenders. Tassure-on-the Neva was in the meantime occupied by the human-led coalition forces. While combat ended, the Plague continued to roil through the North, killing tens, if not hundreds of thousands of Trasgu. Emperor Baldwin Vesper was dead, along with several members of his family, a few of the remainder captive and the rest scattered into the hinterlands, disgraced and powerless. Queen Cwethre took the opportunity to officially renew Mercia’s independence.
It was all over.
A grand victory celebration for the Coalition was quickly arranged before the still-burning ruins of Tassure-on-the-Neva. In front of the half-destroyed ruins of the Tournelles Palace, at one end of the Great Plaza of Victory, atop the royal stage, sat King Owin, his chamberlains and council, courtiers and high lords and guards. Nearby were similar platforms for the Khedive of Tulusculum, as well as the five duregaren kings and Grand Warden of the Forest, and their assembled delegates and officers and sentinels.
The ceremony began as the sun passed over the city walls. Up the Emperor’s Avenue marched the victorious forces, nearly 60000 troops in all, bloody, tired, but triumphant, with banners unfurled and fluttering in the wind and trumpets blowing. Column by column, the troops of the coalition, the New Satrap’s Army, the Tulusculumian forces, the Royal Army, the military orders and the small Alliance Army marched on through the fallen capital past the quiet subdued crowd of the conquered Trasgu populace and the cheers of the freed prisoners, camp followers, sailors and the scattering of human traders to the leadership at the plaza. The Duchy of Normad's small but fearsome expeditionary force took up the rear of these allied troops, led by their cold, tall leader on horseback. Resplendent in his gilded plate armor, Lord de Trobliand rode with muted but clear satisfaction over this triumph. As he passed, whispers went among the crowd claiming that the rider had turned the dragons against their Other Men masters, while others claimed that he had cemented the alliance between Auxia and Tulusculum. Still others said- in hushed tones- that the Normad lord was the one that unleashed the plague upon the Trasgu. A new name had been attached to Lord Regis de Trobliand: The Plague-Giver. Many shuddered.
Finally came the battered forces of the New Army, the core National Army of Auxia, now worn down to 18000 hard-fighting veterans. In battered armor and dented weapons, under frayed banners and worn features, the troops nevertheless marched proudly. Through four hard years of war, this disparate force of volunteers and levies, built up from former farmers, fishermen, merchants, craftsmen, tradesmen, mercenaries and militiamen, had forged themselves into the most powerful force in the land. And now their great and horrible duty was ending.
Column by column, the human soldiers marched on, led by their commanders, then assembled in the plaza. The Orphans. The Volscian Legion. The Capenan Watch. The Alban Golden Guards. The Satrinum Brigade. The Lizards. The Cnaeus Wolverines.
The Stanton Brigade.
Logan led his unit as they marched, their tattered Dragon banner hoisted high by Woden fluttering proudly above him, with Liza, Bidgwell, Dr. Moller, Guoyt, Mansker and Fink close by leading their companies, each now small and compact. As he advanced down the road, the Forester of Stanton reflected upon the moment.
Glib, Wilcox, Thetis, Brewster and Finch were gone, having fallen on the long road here with more than a thousand others. A whole generation of men and women had been wiped away from the community.
The Sheriff would have reveled in this victory. Thetis would have cheered after having finally succeeded with her vengeance.
Glib would have enjoyed seeing this new world of the North.
Logan was tired of this entire venture, but as he led his troops past the royalty and assembled them at the plaza, the Forester decided that he was willing to have this one last obligation before his role as a soldier ended.
After the New Army came the beasts. Horses and oxen carried wagons and siege engines. Growling manticores, their deadly tails curled but dangerously poised. Gryphons, regal and magnificent in their bright plumage.
Finally came the dragons. Meratezatgh marched up, with Hthersarw, Sdwere and Pmweqej beside him. A hush came over the crowd as the giant, terrible scaly beasts approached, wings folded but heads raised high.
In a way there was a certain justice in that the most powerful creatures of the war participated in the length of the entire conflict from the gate of the human capital to the middle of the Tragsu capital.
Soon the army of soldiers had assembled, covering the total expanse of Plaza. Mera stood in the back with his squadron, Logan with the Stanton Brigade beside it and Lord De Trobliand with his Normad contingent on the other side.
In front of the palace, King Owin stood up and walked to the center of the stage, where the duregaren had set up an array of curved copper plates to allow the human ruler’s voice to be amplified over the entire plaza.
Once this new king had been a nervous child, thrust unexpectedly into the cruel and unforgiving role of rulership. Three hard years of war had changed him. Now King Owin displayed power and confidence and control, if not outright pride and arrogance, and he minced no words.
“Auxians! Allies!” He roared. “After four long years of war we have finally emerged victorious!”
The crowds cheered. Or at least pretended to among the capital's civilians.
“Four long years have brought us to this moment. The enemy hated us all, and sent all the monsters and demons of Nalbin over to try to destroy us. We have suffered lost family and friends, burnt fields and farms, starvation and cold. The Heavens saw fit to test us at times, and often we had reached the edge of despair. But we saw this thing through, and at long last we have finally been rewarded, for instead of us being defeated and yoked and enslaved, it is now our ancient enemy that has been vanquished and at our mercy! A great evil in this world has been eradicated! The terrible Tassurian Empire has been destroyed and the proud Other Men cast down from this world!”
More cheers, though the Trasgu were now notably silent.
“By this victory, we ensure that real men, not false men, will dominate Auxia now and forever!”
The other peoples- Mera included- looked visibly uncomfortable at that statement.
“This is the moment of our greatest triumph! This new Great War will be one that will be remembered through the generations. When your children asked you what you have done in your youth, you can beat your chest and say, 'My children, I did my part in driving out the monsters from this land!' We will create a new, better world, from the ashes of this conflict. And I, Owin Walker, King of all Nalbin, the Northern Marches, and Welf, will ensure that all of Nablin gains from our success!”
The cheers renewed, echoing through the plaza, helped by the food and ale being handed out among the crowd. Atop the stage, servants came up bearing trays of golden medallions, as the king touched his chest.
“Now, a good liege rewards his servants for performing their duties satisfactorily. We will now recognize those of us who have contributed the most to this victory. First, Grenville Dodge, Field Marshal of Auxia, I bid you to come up and attend your king.”
The grizzled Field Marshal, architect of humanity's greatest triumph, marched up. His face was worn, his hair prematurely gray, the former Berkshirean Farmer nevertheless appeared genuinely happy, kneeling and accepting the medallion being placed over his head, followed by the two taps on his shoulders from the Sword of Lions, before breaking protocol to stand up and offer a hand to the King of Auxia.
“Well Owin, we finally beat them, didn't we?” Dodge uttered with a smile.
Despite the presumption, King Owin returned the grin, accepted the handshake and then moved to pat his commander on the back. “I'm glad we both got to see this thing end, Grenville.”
“We will be remembered in the stories,‘the King and the Peasant’ that brought down the Other Men.”
“I wouldn't want this story to be told in any way, except with you by my right hand.”
Cheers echoed through the plaza, the veterans of the New Army cheering the loudest. One of their own had fought his way through the ranks to reach the pinnacle of power and had achieved victories that would be remembered through the ages.
The end of the monsters of the dark.
The ceremony continued. One by one, the great heroes of the war were called up and honored. Cocles of the Bridge, Clem, the McCook Brothers, the Sorceress of Air, Adelita, some 213 individuals in all. Those who died were also awarded, though after a long pause, the king would lay the medallion off to one side. Soon there was a field of unclaimed medals, among them ones for Zook, Lytle, Tau, Glima and Thetis.
Almost perfunctory, all of the other rulers were also honored, as were all of the Satraps and leaders of military orders, wealthy and powerful individuals, or even people with connections. Lord de Troblaind accepted his medallion politely and without comment.
Finally it was Logan’s turn.
“Logan Durham, Forester of Stanton, I bid you to come up and attend your king.”
The commander of the Stanton Brigade slowly walked up to the platform, approached King Owin and finally knelt before him. His liege pulled out his sword, gently tapped the tip on both of Logan’s shoulders, then pulled out a medallion. As the Forester of Stanton lowered his head, the king placed it around his neck.
"I appoint you, Sir Logan Durham, the Dragon Knight of Stanton, Warden of the March of the Southern Wilds."
Logan bowed his head. “Thank you, my liege.”
King Owin smiled.
“Now call up your dragon, Sir Durham of Stanton.”
Logan got up and turned to beckon Mera to approach the king. The bronze dragon obeyed the command, picking his way through the plaza, taking slow reverent steps forward as soldiers quietly parted way before the great wyrm. Then in front of the king and the stage, Mera lowering his entire upper body to the ground. The dragon had long since figured out that humans loved such acts of submission.
The King of Auxia smiled at the gesture. “Lord Stanton Dragon, in honor of your accomplishments, I, King Owin Walker of Nalbin, do pardon you for your past crimes. Instead, I give you the honor of a colonelcy in the Auxian New Army.”
After Mera lowered his head, the king slipped the medallion over the dragon’s neck.
The dragon then bowed his head again in deference, before standing atop his hind legs and roaring in triumph, the call echoing through the city.
Mera figured that everyone here already had enough fire lately.
The crowd cheered anyway.
***
In a line with all the honored officers of the war, Logan stood silently beside Mera until all the speeches and ceremonies and formal displays finally ended, and the rulers and their courtiers broke off and left the plaza to attend their respective banquets. Quickly the assembled crowds and soldiers broke up as well to participate in the feasts set up for their honor or taking part in their own revelries. Hthersarw, Sdwere and Pmweqej quickly ran off when they were each presented with whole roast oxen along the edge of the Prince’ Plaza, leaving Mera alone with Logan.
The two moved to join the Stanton Brigade, currently beginning to enjoy their food and ale at the Silver Lane. While they walked alone the dragon fidgeted with his royal emblem.
“Dang it, this collar is choking me.” The bronze dragon quietly gasped at the tightness of the medallion around his neck. Though it was custom made by a royal tanner, and intricately woven with a complex mountain motif, the collar seemed just slightly too short.
“That’s the point of a collar.” Logan replied. “An act of control.”
Mera stopped and stared at the Forester. “The King of Auxia claims me?”
Logan laughed. “He thinks he does. Don't worry about it. Look, I got two.”
The Forester had also taken a medallion for Sonia in recognition of her role in the Auxian treaty with Tulusculum, though his wife had simply returned home after that venture, leaving Logan to collect it.
After a pause, the dragon shrugged and the two of them continued.
“What's the point of this? Look at this coin.” Mera continued, tapping at the metal the size of a cookie in slight disappointment. “It’s just a small addition to my hoard.”
“Its value is the king’s image. It means that you are part of the king’s command. That also means no one should try to harm you lest they incur the wrath of the king. It is valuable. Keep it.”
The dragon nodded. “Very well then. If I'm a thrall to the human king, do I have to do anything in exchange?”
“Nah, just ignore it if they come calling.”
“And you?”
“I’ll keep protecting the River Triangle, and keep an eye on the mountain passes with you. If King Owin asks for more, fuck him. We’ve done enough for Auxia.”
As the pair walked, Logan began fiddling with his own medallion. “You know, five years ago, this would have been my greatest dream. A king’s honor. A knighthood.” He shook his head.
“It was paid for by the suffering of innocents and friends and neighbors and people like me. How pointless it all seems now.”
***
With Mera finally departing to rejoin his squadron, Logan returned alone from the feast to see Lord de Trobliand packing up again, shuffling large sheets of parchment into his satchel. His repeating crossbow was already slung around his shoulder. The Normad Lord looked as busy as always with his plans.
“What will you be doing now, Lord de Trobliand?” The Forester asked his friend.
“Just a few short trips through Nalbin, mainly meeting with people to sort out some final loose ends. The war has been won, but in a way, that was the easy part. Now we need to win the peace.”
Logan cocked his head.
“What does that even mean, Regis?”
“I will come back for you when you are needed.” Lord de Trobliand finished packing and headed for the door, patting Logan on the shoulder as he passed. “Keep your dragon happy until then. First, I need to recover Glib’s body and return him to Stanton. I will have him buried in the town cemetery.”
The Forester was taken aback, but gave a sad smile and nodded. “Thank you. Glib was a good friend, and I appreciate you taking the effort to bring him home.”
At that the Normad commander stopped. “He was my friend as well.” Lord de Troblaind finally said, before he turned away and walked off.
David Kincaid - The Irish Volunteer
From
Kshanti
With the terms of unconditional surrender accepted by the Regent’s Council, the Great War finally ended with the Tassurian Empire defeated and all but destroyed. The last of the Tassurian armies had been crushed- and General Carmel killed- in the brave but futile attempt to defend the great Imperial capital, leaving only scattered, poorly-trained forces to dissolve by themselves through desertion or localized surrenders. Tassure-on-the Neva was in the meantime occupied by the human-led coalition forces. While combat ended, the Plague continued to roil through the North, killing tens, if not hundreds of thousands of Trasgu. Emperor Baldwin Vesper was dead, along with several members of his family, a few of the remainder captive and the rest scattered into the hinterlands, disgraced and powerless. Queen Cwethre took the opportunity to officially renew Mercia’s independence.
It was all over.
A grand victory celebration for the Coalition was quickly arranged before the still-burning ruins of Tassure-on-the-Neva. In front of the half-destroyed ruins of the Tournelles Palace, at one end of the Great Plaza of Victory, atop the royal stage, sat King Owin, his chamberlains and council, courtiers and high lords and guards. Nearby were similar platforms for the Khedive of Tulusculum, as well as the five duregaren kings and Grand Warden of the Forest, and their assembled delegates and officers and sentinels.
The ceremony began as the sun passed over the city walls. Up the Emperor’s Avenue marched the victorious forces, nearly 60000 troops in all, bloody, tired, but triumphant, with banners unfurled and fluttering in the wind and trumpets blowing. Column by column, the troops of the coalition, the New Satrap’s Army, the Tulusculumian forces, the Royal Army, the military orders and the small Alliance Army marched on through the fallen capital past the quiet subdued crowd of the conquered Trasgu populace and the cheers of the freed prisoners, camp followers, sailors and the scattering of human traders to the leadership at the plaza. The Duchy of Normad's small but fearsome expeditionary force took up the rear of these allied troops, led by their cold, tall leader on horseback. Resplendent in his gilded plate armor, Lord de Trobliand rode with muted but clear satisfaction over this triumph. As he passed, whispers went among the crowd claiming that the rider had turned the dragons against their Other Men masters, while others claimed that he had cemented the alliance between Auxia and Tulusculum. Still others said- in hushed tones- that the Normad lord was the one that unleashed the plague upon the Trasgu. A new name had been attached to Lord Regis de Trobliand: The Plague-Giver. Many shuddered.
Finally came the battered forces of the New Army, the core National Army of Auxia, now worn down to 18000 hard-fighting veterans. In battered armor and dented weapons, under frayed banners and worn features, the troops nevertheless marched proudly. Through four hard years of war, this disparate force of volunteers and levies, built up from former farmers, fishermen, merchants, craftsmen, tradesmen, mercenaries and militiamen, had forged themselves into the most powerful force in the land. And now their great and horrible duty was ending.
Column by column, the human soldiers marched on, led by their commanders, then assembled in the plaza. The Orphans. The Volscian Legion. The Capenan Watch. The Alban Golden Guards. The Satrinum Brigade. The Lizards. The Cnaeus Wolverines.
The Stanton Brigade.
Logan led his unit as they marched, their tattered Dragon banner hoisted high by Woden fluttering proudly above him, with Liza, Bidgwell, Dr. Moller, Guoyt, Mansker and Fink close by leading their companies, each now small and compact. As he advanced down the road, the Forester of Stanton reflected upon the moment.
Glib, Wilcox, Thetis, Brewster and Finch were gone, having fallen on the long road here with more than a thousand others. A whole generation of men and women had been wiped away from the community.
The Sheriff would have reveled in this victory. Thetis would have cheered after having finally succeeded with her vengeance.
Glib would have enjoyed seeing this new world of the North.
Logan was tired of this entire venture, but as he led his troops past the royalty and assembled them at the plaza, the Forester decided that he was willing to have this one last obligation before his role as a soldier ended.
After the New Army came the beasts. Horses and oxen carried wagons and siege engines. Growling manticores, their deadly tails curled but dangerously poised. Gryphons, regal and magnificent in their bright plumage.
Finally came the dragons. Meratezatgh marched up, with Hthersarw, Sdwere and Pmweqej beside him. A hush came over the crowd as the giant, terrible scaly beasts approached, wings folded but heads raised high.
In a way there was a certain justice in that the most powerful creatures of the war participated in the length of the entire conflict from the gate of the human capital to the middle of the Tragsu capital.
Soon the army of soldiers had assembled, covering the total expanse of Plaza. Mera stood in the back with his squadron, Logan with the Stanton Brigade beside it and Lord De Trobliand with his Normad contingent on the other side.
In front of the palace, King Owin stood up and walked to the center of the stage, where the duregaren had set up an array of curved copper plates to allow the human ruler’s voice to be amplified over the entire plaza.
Once this new king had been a nervous child, thrust unexpectedly into the cruel and unforgiving role of rulership. Three hard years of war had changed him. Now King Owin displayed power and confidence and control, if not outright pride and arrogance, and he minced no words.
“Auxians! Allies!” He roared. “After four long years of war we have finally emerged victorious!”
The crowds cheered. Or at least pretended to among the capital's civilians.
“Four long years have brought us to this moment. The enemy hated us all, and sent all the monsters and demons of Nalbin over to try to destroy us. We have suffered lost family and friends, burnt fields and farms, starvation and cold. The Heavens saw fit to test us at times, and often we had reached the edge of despair. But we saw this thing through, and at long last we have finally been rewarded, for instead of us being defeated and yoked and enslaved, it is now our ancient enemy that has been vanquished and at our mercy! A great evil in this world has been eradicated! The terrible Tassurian Empire has been destroyed and the proud Other Men cast down from this world!”
More cheers, though the Trasgu were now notably silent.
“By this victory, we ensure that real men, not false men, will dominate Auxia now and forever!”
The other peoples- Mera included- looked visibly uncomfortable at that statement.
“This is the moment of our greatest triumph! This new Great War will be one that will be remembered through the generations. When your children asked you what you have done in your youth, you can beat your chest and say, 'My children, I did my part in driving out the monsters from this land!' We will create a new, better world, from the ashes of this conflict. And I, Owin Walker, King of all Nalbin, the Northern Marches, and Welf, will ensure that all of Nablin gains from our success!”
The cheers renewed, echoing through the plaza, helped by the food and ale being handed out among the crowd. Atop the stage, servants came up bearing trays of golden medallions, as the king touched his chest.
“Now, a good liege rewards his servants for performing their duties satisfactorily. We will now recognize those of us who have contributed the most to this victory. First, Grenville Dodge, Field Marshal of Auxia, I bid you to come up and attend your king.”
The grizzled Field Marshal, architect of humanity's greatest triumph, marched up. His face was worn, his hair prematurely gray, the former Berkshirean Farmer nevertheless appeared genuinely happy, kneeling and accepting the medallion being placed over his head, followed by the two taps on his shoulders from the Sword of Lions, before breaking protocol to stand up and offer a hand to the King of Auxia.
“Well Owin, we finally beat them, didn't we?” Dodge uttered with a smile.
Despite the presumption, King Owin returned the grin, accepted the handshake and then moved to pat his commander on the back. “I'm glad we both got to see this thing end, Grenville.”
“We will be remembered in the stories,‘the King and the Peasant’ that brought down the Other Men.”
“I wouldn't want this story to be told in any way, except with you by my right hand.”
Cheers echoed through the plaza, the veterans of the New Army cheering the loudest. One of their own had fought his way through the ranks to reach the pinnacle of power and had achieved victories that would be remembered through the ages.
The end of the monsters of the dark.
The ceremony continued. One by one, the great heroes of the war were called up and honored. Cocles of the Bridge, Clem, the McCook Brothers, the Sorceress of Air, Adelita, some 213 individuals in all. Those who died were also awarded, though after a long pause, the king would lay the medallion off to one side. Soon there was a field of unclaimed medals, among them ones for Zook, Lytle, Tau, Glima and Thetis.
Almost perfunctory, all of the other rulers were also honored, as were all of the Satraps and leaders of military orders, wealthy and powerful individuals, or even people with connections. Lord de Troblaind accepted his medallion politely and without comment.
Finally it was Logan’s turn.
“Logan Durham, Forester of Stanton, I bid you to come up and attend your king.”
The commander of the Stanton Brigade slowly walked up to the platform, approached King Owin and finally knelt before him. His liege pulled out his sword, gently tapped the tip on both of Logan’s shoulders, then pulled out a medallion. As the Forester of Stanton lowered his head, the king placed it around his neck.
"I appoint you, Sir Logan Durham, the Dragon Knight of Stanton, Warden of the March of the Southern Wilds."
Logan bowed his head. “Thank you, my liege.”
King Owin smiled.
“Now call up your dragon, Sir Durham of Stanton.”
Logan got up and turned to beckon Mera to approach the king. The bronze dragon obeyed the command, picking his way through the plaza, taking slow reverent steps forward as soldiers quietly parted way before the great wyrm. Then in front of the king and the stage, Mera lowering his entire upper body to the ground. The dragon had long since figured out that humans loved such acts of submission.
The King of Auxia smiled at the gesture. “Lord Stanton Dragon, in honor of your accomplishments, I, King Owin Walker of Nalbin, do pardon you for your past crimes. Instead, I give you the honor of a colonelcy in the Auxian New Army.”
After Mera lowered his head, the king slipped the medallion over the dragon’s neck.
The dragon then bowed his head again in deference, before standing atop his hind legs and roaring in triumph, the call echoing through the city.
Mera figured that everyone here already had enough fire lately.
The crowd cheered anyway.
***
In a line with all the honored officers of the war, Logan stood silently beside Mera until all the speeches and ceremonies and formal displays finally ended, and the rulers and their courtiers broke off and left the plaza to attend their respective banquets. Quickly the assembled crowds and soldiers broke up as well to participate in the feasts set up for their honor or taking part in their own revelries. Hthersarw, Sdwere and Pmweqej quickly ran off when they were each presented with whole roast oxen along the edge of the Prince’ Plaza, leaving Mera alone with Logan.
The two moved to join the Stanton Brigade, currently beginning to enjoy their food and ale at the Silver Lane. While they walked alone the dragon fidgeted with his royal emblem.
“Dang it, this collar is choking me.” The bronze dragon quietly gasped at the tightness of the medallion around his neck. Though it was custom made by a royal tanner, and intricately woven with a complex mountain motif, the collar seemed just slightly too short.
“That’s the point of a collar.” Logan replied. “An act of control.”
Mera stopped and stared at the Forester. “The King of Auxia claims me?”
Logan laughed. “He thinks he does. Don't worry about it. Look, I got two.”
The Forester had also taken a medallion for Sonia in recognition of her role in the Auxian treaty with Tulusculum, though his wife had simply returned home after that venture, leaving Logan to collect it.
After a pause, the dragon shrugged and the two of them continued.
“What's the point of this? Look at this coin.” Mera continued, tapping at the metal the size of a cookie in slight disappointment. “It’s just a small addition to my hoard.”
“Its value is the king’s image. It means that you are part of the king’s command. That also means no one should try to harm you lest they incur the wrath of the king. It is valuable. Keep it.”
The dragon nodded. “Very well then. If I'm a thrall to the human king, do I have to do anything in exchange?”
“Nah, just ignore it if they come calling.”
“And you?”
“I’ll keep protecting the River Triangle, and keep an eye on the mountain passes with you. If King Owin asks for more, fuck him. We’ve done enough for Auxia.”
As the pair walked, Logan began fiddling with his own medallion. “You know, five years ago, this would have been my greatest dream. A king’s honor. A knighthood.” He shook his head.
“It was paid for by the suffering of innocents and friends and neighbors and people like me. How pointless it all seems now.”
***
With Mera finally departing to rejoin his squadron, Logan returned alone from the feast to see Lord de Trobliand packing up again, shuffling large sheets of parchment into his satchel. His repeating crossbow was already slung around his shoulder. The Normad Lord looked as busy as always with his plans.
“What will you be doing now, Lord de Trobliand?” The Forester asked his friend.
“Just a few short trips through Nalbin, mainly meeting with people to sort out some final loose ends. The war has been won, but in a way, that was the easy part. Now we need to win the peace.”
Logan cocked his head.
“What does that even mean, Regis?”
“I will come back for you when you are needed.” Lord de Trobliand finished packing and headed for the door, patting Logan on the shoulder as he passed. “Keep your dragon happy until then. First, I need to recover Glib’s body and return him to Stanton. I will have him buried in the town cemetery.”
The Forester was taken aback, but gave a sad smile and nodded. “Thank you. Glib was a good friend, and I appreciate you taking the effort to bring him home.”
At that the Normad commander stopped. “He was my friend as well.” Lord de Troblaind finally said, before he turned away and walked off.
David Kincaid - The Irish Volunteer
From
Kshanti
Category Artwork (Traditional) / Fantasy
Species Western Dragon
Size 2375 x 1552px
File Size 708.8 kB
Lol yep! My boy is especially concerned with rebuilding his hoard after being cleaned out last time.
Sigh... "real men, not false men, will dominate Auxia forever..." that's what we call foreshadowing. That aside, great picture. I enjoy reading through these pieces. Also, I find the idea of a human laying claim to a dragon laughable, except for one reality. That being, we are so numerous and coordinate.
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