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Winter, 1330
“Die!” Lisa yelled
With a piff the snowball smacked into Glib’s head.
“You’ve got to do better than that!” Sonia laughed as she threw a slushball back in response, hitting Logan on the side.
“Aye. Knocked the lights clean outta me.” Glib cried, shaking the snow from his hair. A split second later he swung to his feet, grabbed a shovel, and without a second’s pause, charged Liza’s and Logan’s snow fort, and with a yell smashed a giant hole into the side of the wall, sending the entire structure crumbling down upon the trio.
A few days after a heavy snowfall was followed by rapidly warming weather, an impromptu snowball fight erupted that encompassed nearly the entire town of Stanton.
It started when Glib, Edwin and Guyot decided to play a prank on Finch. As the innkeeper began moving some casks of ale into the public house, the trio ambushed him with a volley of snowballs, sending the portly man running. Hearing the commotion, Brewster, Timothy, and Inglath came out only to be hit as well and driven back inside. However this new trio regrouped, picking up their own ice granules and finally drove off Glib, Edwin and Guyot in a hail of projectiles. The original assailants ran through the town, exchanging volleys with the inn folk chasing after them, both sides accidentally or purposefully hitting random passers-bys in the running battle. Some who encountered this chaos, like Bidgewell, quickly sought shelter. Others, like Rabia, picked up snowballs of their own and joined the fight.
Soon the center of town was filled with folks pelting snowballs at each other. Folks who declined to participate hid inside their homes.
After a few minutes of exchanges, Sheriff Wilcox arrived and began smacking away projectiles and attempting to break up the crowd.
“Stop this! Come along now!”
Likewise the town deputies likewise began fanning out to arrest the rowdiest of individuals. However this only excited the assembled crowd, and all factions immediately turned upon the sheriff and his deputies, pelting them with a flurry of frozen spheres. Beset from every direction by a storm of projectiles, Wilcox and his enforcers quickly beat a hasty retreat.
Encouraged by the victory, more and more individuals ran over to participate in the great snowball fight. In a short while, hundreds of individuals were engaged, dueling from the South Gate to Miss Cott's house. The inn, central platform, merchant row, and frozen canal bank became a battlefield of water, ice and snow, stained white and brown from ice and mud. Combatants formed into a loose series of factions, the North, South, East and West sides of town engaging with each other, though other divisions were also used, Liddell and Anse’s families taking their little feud to a private game, Fink arriving with a group of farmers, while a large group loosely under Wilkerson went over to attack the Guester tulou before being decisively thrown back, after which the Guesters arrived in the main part of town and joined in the general bedlam.
Then came the sound of heavy wingbeats and a shadow descended upon the snowy landscape. The Forester had arrived atop Mera, landing thunderously despite the muffling effects of snow. The mobs stopped, wary of a confrontation with their Guardian.
Logan hopped off, eyeing the crowd, assessing threats and trying to find familiar faces among the onlookers.
“Now this may be getting out of hand. Everyone stop-”
The dragon abruptly shifted his head, and a split second later the Forester noticed movement to his left. He immediately shifted his attention and drew his awlpike but was smacked clear in the head by a snowball. While Mera remained strangely immobile Logan prepared to engage his assailant.
“I think it's fine as long as no one gets hurt.” Sonia stated, packing in another snowball before casually smacking the Forester in the chest with it.
For a second the entire town plus the dragon held their breath, wondering what would happen between the Forester of Stanton and the Elder of Stanton, between husband and wife.
Then Logan snorted and with a chuckle shrugged his shoulders.
“Very well, as long as no one gets hurt.”
The assembled crowd cheered.
With that, the Forester of Stanton made some snowballs and jumped into the chaos.
Mera looked upon the whole scene with some bemusement, watching projectiles fly all around him . He was loosely familiar with the game, and though friends fought against friends, family members against each other, neighbors and neighbors, minimal anger was seen, no one seemed to be greatly injured, folks were laughing and perhaps most importantly, no one dared to toss the icy cold masses of snow anywhere near the dragon. After a while Finch brought Mera some roasted venison and mulled wine, and the dragon enjoyed a light snack amidst the chaos.
Satisfied, the dragon finally just sat upon his haunches to watch the proceedings and ensure nothing got out of hand.
After a while the wyrm noticed De Trobliand standing in front of the inn, silently drinking. The Normad wasn't playing.
As the hours went on, one by one individuals dropped out from cold, exhaustion or pain from multiple hits. By the end of the fight three hours later, the only remaining fighters were Logan, Sonia, Liza, Brewster, Rabia and Minka were on one side facing Glib, Edwin, Guyot, Wilcox, Fink and Thetis on the other. Though she joined late, the Maid of Motya turned out to be quite skilled in her throwing abilities, expertly picking off one of Logan’s group after another until they retired into the inn.
“That’s it, we surrender!” Sonia laughed as she raised her arms into the air, before disappearing indoors to the warmth of the fire.
Glib’s team cheered, joined by the onlookers. Then tired, cold, wet and thirsty, everyone joined in entering the inn, leaving the dragon all alone.
Mera turned to see de Trobliand also still there.
The Normad raised his mug to toast the dragon.
“A good game. Better than others that are sure to come.”
Then Regis entered the tavern as well.
The great snowball fight was over.
It was a fun little game, with no stakes, a nice escape and a way to release pressure on everyone.
***
Six hundred miles away, the Auxian force licked their wounds behind fortifications along the Solano River. Some 150,000 troops were being raised, doubling the size of the current Auxian standing forces. Most of the fresh recruits were still minimally trained militia pulled almost directly from fields and towns, but now they were backed by a core of veterans who could boast of defeating the Other Men in battle.
Two entire human armies had been obliterated in the monstrous battles of the year before, only to be forged anew as the Tassurians bore down upon Satrinum: surviving Royals, battered veterans, barely trained militia, untrained levies, guild members, scattered members of former military orders, students, and bandits together helped to repulse the invaders. This ad hoc force would now be the core of the Auxian defense against the renewed Imperial onslaught.
And they would gain a new commander.
Grenville Dodge entered the Royal Palace of Satrinum, its nine great towers hundreds of feet high looming over gleaming white walls.
Massive portcullis gates opened up before him, and rows of guards stood at attention. The poor farmer of Brekshire did not quite know what to make of the whole thing, but he had obeyed the summons from King Owin Walker without hesitation. Beside him the Castellian was explaining the intricacies of court behavior and ritual in the presence of his ruler, but the conversation passed through Dodge's ear without much effect.
Eventually the gates and hallways opened into a great hall, revealing a crowd of courtiers, guards, and a small bearded figure sitting atop a throne. A powerful bearded man, dressed in an intricate tunic threaded with gold, stood besides the young king.
“Who would enter the presence of Owin Walker, King of all Nalbin, the Northern Marches, and Welf?” The Regent called out.
“Castillian Benjamin Gamble, introducing Grenville Dodge.” The Castellian paused for a moment. “Commander of the Pontine Army, Victor of Bemis Farms.”
“He may approach.” The Regent responded.
Grenville Dodge walked into the room and immediately knelt.
“My king. Why did you bid this humble servant to your presence?”
The people in the Great Hall gasped at the presumption and familiarity. The Regent was about to say something, but the king’s hand went up. After a brief hesitation, the Regent kept silent.
“I bid you here because I want to honor your victory and give you command of the defense of Auxia. I want you to be my general.” The young king replied.
Again a mutter erupted through the crowd.
Dodge shook his head. “I am not worthy, my liege. There are better, higher ranking leaders to choose from.”
“And they have all failed to drive back the Other Man invasion.” King Owin shook his head. “You did. You defeated them.”
“That was but good fortune and the bravery of my comrades.”
“Fortune or not, it was a great victory, and I will take it.” The young king got up from his seat, and though the Regent gestured for him to sit once more the ruler ignored the messages and approached his new military commander. “This war may decide the fate of humanity. I want someone who can win.”
Dodge’s word caught in his throat.
King Owin was now beside the peasant. “Will you do your duty? To your king, to your kingdom, to your people?”
Dodge nodded. “I'll try sir.”
“Good.” The king’s sword flashed out, and tapped the Brekshirean on the shoulders. “I appoint you, Grenville Dodge of Brekshire, General of the assembled armies of the Kingdom of Auxia.”
“Thank you, my king.”
“Give us victories, General Dodge.”
***
A thousand miles further North in the Imperial complex in Tassure on the Neva, General Anhake knelt before his emperor.
‘My emperor, I have failed in my task.’ He stated simply.
‘We were close.’ Emperor Baldwin replied. ‘Perhaps we were too ambitious.’
‘I offer up my resignation. I have been unable to fulfill your expectations, and those of our people, and I am willing to help select and update my successor on how to continue our reconquest. Gremenal is a worthy replacement for me.’
‘Nonsense.’ The Trasgu Emperor personally bade his general to rise with a gentle wave of his hand. ‘You failed a single task, after reversing centuries of human expansion. The North is ours, the South from the Great Water Divide to the Fragrant River. No general in the history of Nalbin has been able to accomplish what you’ve done.’
Nodding, Anhake slowly got to his feet, watching as the Emperor went over to the great table upon which was spread the map of Nalbin.
The general walked over, looking over the various markers denoting military formations of the Tassurian Empires, with strips of parchment listing strength, energy, supplies and casualties. On the other side of the Solano were similar markers of the enemy with estimates of similar variables. The humans had gone through so many wholesale unit replacements, consolidations and fresh recruits that it was difficult to tell which units they were actually facing and how many had been withdrawn or held in reserve.
‘Our troops have suffered heavy losses in the drive South, and the war can only get larger. We need replacements and more reinforcements.’
Emperor Baldwin laughed. ‘We’ll run through a second recruitment drive. That and infirmary recoveries would likely cover our losses. As for reinforcements, we could start a draft in Mercia and the reconquered lands. The Satrap of Capena has no honor, nor some of the lords of the Plains.
Anhake sighed. ‘I don’t believe that would be nearly enough.’
‘Nalbin has the first peoples. They would likely be interested in our endeavor to get rid of human dominance.’
Emperor Baldwin put his arm on his victorious general’s shoulder.
‘Call up the other people. Send diplomats to the ogre, goblin, minotaur, cynos, capra, ixion and little folk tribes and the Sabine Kingdoms. Tell them that the time to regain Nalbin from the sea peoples is at hand. That united, the old peoples of the island can retake their ancestral homes. Also send some advisors to evaluate the Duergaren cities and the dragons and griffins. Perhaps we might recruit some of their mercenaries into our ranks. Every effort must be exerted. We must drive the humans to the seas or we shall all perish.’
Howard Blake - Walking in the Air
From
Kshanti
“Die!” Lisa yelled
With a piff the snowball smacked into Glib’s head.
“You’ve got to do better than that!” Sonia laughed as she threw a slushball back in response, hitting Logan on the side.
“Aye. Knocked the lights clean outta me.” Glib cried, shaking the snow from his hair. A split second later he swung to his feet, grabbed a shovel, and without a second’s pause, charged Liza’s and Logan’s snow fort, and with a yell smashed a giant hole into the side of the wall, sending the entire structure crumbling down upon the trio.
A few days after a heavy snowfall was followed by rapidly warming weather, an impromptu snowball fight erupted that encompassed nearly the entire town of Stanton.
It started when Glib, Edwin and Guyot decided to play a prank on Finch. As the innkeeper began moving some casks of ale into the public house, the trio ambushed him with a volley of snowballs, sending the portly man running. Hearing the commotion, Brewster, Timothy, and Inglath came out only to be hit as well and driven back inside. However this new trio regrouped, picking up their own ice granules and finally drove off Glib, Edwin and Guyot in a hail of projectiles. The original assailants ran through the town, exchanging volleys with the inn folk chasing after them, both sides accidentally or purposefully hitting random passers-bys in the running battle. Some who encountered this chaos, like Bidgewell, quickly sought shelter. Others, like Rabia, picked up snowballs of their own and joined the fight.
Soon the center of town was filled with folks pelting snowballs at each other. Folks who declined to participate hid inside their homes.
After a few minutes of exchanges, Sheriff Wilcox arrived and began smacking away projectiles and attempting to break up the crowd.
“Stop this! Come along now!”
Likewise the town deputies likewise began fanning out to arrest the rowdiest of individuals. However this only excited the assembled crowd, and all factions immediately turned upon the sheriff and his deputies, pelting them with a flurry of frozen spheres. Beset from every direction by a storm of projectiles, Wilcox and his enforcers quickly beat a hasty retreat.
Encouraged by the victory, more and more individuals ran over to participate in the great snowball fight. In a short while, hundreds of individuals were engaged, dueling from the South Gate to Miss Cott's house. The inn, central platform, merchant row, and frozen canal bank became a battlefield of water, ice and snow, stained white and brown from ice and mud. Combatants formed into a loose series of factions, the North, South, East and West sides of town engaging with each other, though other divisions were also used, Liddell and Anse’s families taking their little feud to a private game, Fink arriving with a group of farmers, while a large group loosely under Wilkerson went over to attack the Guester tulou before being decisively thrown back, after which the Guesters arrived in the main part of town and joined in the general bedlam.
Then came the sound of heavy wingbeats and a shadow descended upon the snowy landscape. The Forester had arrived atop Mera, landing thunderously despite the muffling effects of snow. The mobs stopped, wary of a confrontation with their Guardian.
Logan hopped off, eyeing the crowd, assessing threats and trying to find familiar faces among the onlookers.
“Now this may be getting out of hand. Everyone stop-”
The dragon abruptly shifted his head, and a split second later the Forester noticed movement to his left. He immediately shifted his attention and drew his awlpike but was smacked clear in the head by a snowball. While Mera remained strangely immobile Logan prepared to engage his assailant.
“I think it's fine as long as no one gets hurt.” Sonia stated, packing in another snowball before casually smacking the Forester in the chest with it.
For a second the entire town plus the dragon held their breath, wondering what would happen between the Forester of Stanton and the Elder of Stanton, between husband and wife.
Then Logan snorted and with a chuckle shrugged his shoulders.
“Very well, as long as no one gets hurt.”
The assembled crowd cheered.
With that, the Forester of Stanton made some snowballs and jumped into the chaos.
Mera looked upon the whole scene with some bemusement, watching projectiles fly all around him . He was loosely familiar with the game, and though friends fought against friends, family members against each other, neighbors and neighbors, minimal anger was seen, no one seemed to be greatly injured, folks were laughing and perhaps most importantly, no one dared to toss the icy cold masses of snow anywhere near the dragon. After a while Finch brought Mera some roasted venison and mulled wine, and the dragon enjoyed a light snack amidst the chaos.
Satisfied, the dragon finally just sat upon his haunches to watch the proceedings and ensure nothing got out of hand.
After a while the wyrm noticed De Trobliand standing in front of the inn, silently drinking. The Normad wasn't playing.
As the hours went on, one by one individuals dropped out from cold, exhaustion or pain from multiple hits. By the end of the fight three hours later, the only remaining fighters were Logan, Sonia, Liza, Brewster, Rabia and Minka were on one side facing Glib, Edwin, Guyot, Wilcox, Fink and Thetis on the other. Though she joined late, the Maid of Motya turned out to be quite skilled in her throwing abilities, expertly picking off one of Logan’s group after another until they retired into the inn.
“That’s it, we surrender!” Sonia laughed as she raised her arms into the air, before disappearing indoors to the warmth of the fire.
Glib’s team cheered, joined by the onlookers. Then tired, cold, wet and thirsty, everyone joined in entering the inn, leaving the dragon all alone.
Mera turned to see de Trobliand also still there.
The Normad raised his mug to toast the dragon.
“A good game. Better than others that are sure to come.”
Then Regis entered the tavern as well.
The great snowball fight was over.
It was a fun little game, with no stakes, a nice escape and a way to release pressure on everyone.
***
Six hundred miles away, the Auxian force licked their wounds behind fortifications along the Solano River. Some 150,000 troops were being raised, doubling the size of the current Auxian standing forces. Most of the fresh recruits were still minimally trained militia pulled almost directly from fields and towns, but now they were backed by a core of veterans who could boast of defeating the Other Men in battle.
Two entire human armies had been obliterated in the monstrous battles of the year before, only to be forged anew as the Tassurians bore down upon Satrinum: surviving Royals, battered veterans, barely trained militia, untrained levies, guild members, scattered members of former military orders, students, and bandits together helped to repulse the invaders. This ad hoc force would now be the core of the Auxian defense against the renewed Imperial onslaught.
And they would gain a new commander.
Grenville Dodge entered the Royal Palace of Satrinum, its nine great towers hundreds of feet high looming over gleaming white walls.
Massive portcullis gates opened up before him, and rows of guards stood at attention. The poor farmer of Brekshire did not quite know what to make of the whole thing, but he had obeyed the summons from King Owin Walker without hesitation. Beside him the Castellian was explaining the intricacies of court behavior and ritual in the presence of his ruler, but the conversation passed through Dodge's ear without much effect.
Eventually the gates and hallways opened into a great hall, revealing a crowd of courtiers, guards, and a small bearded figure sitting atop a throne. A powerful bearded man, dressed in an intricate tunic threaded with gold, stood besides the young king.
“Who would enter the presence of Owin Walker, King of all Nalbin, the Northern Marches, and Welf?” The Regent called out.
“Castillian Benjamin Gamble, introducing Grenville Dodge.” The Castellian paused for a moment. “Commander of the Pontine Army, Victor of Bemis Farms.”
“He may approach.” The Regent responded.
Grenville Dodge walked into the room and immediately knelt.
“My king. Why did you bid this humble servant to your presence?”
The people in the Great Hall gasped at the presumption and familiarity. The Regent was about to say something, but the king’s hand went up. After a brief hesitation, the Regent kept silent.
“I bid you here because I want to honor your victory and give you command of the defense of Auxia. I want you to be my general.” The young king replied.
Again a mutter erupted through the crowd.
Dodge shook his head. “I am not worthy, my liege. There are better, higher ranking leaders to choose from.”
“And they have all failed to drive back the Other Man invasion.” King Owin shook his head. “You did. You defeated them.”
“That was but good fortune and the bravery of my comrades.”
“Fortune or not, it was a great victory, and I will take it.” The young king got up from his seat, and though the Regent gestured for him to sit once more the ruler ignored the messages and approached his new military commander. “This war may decide the fate of humanity. I want someone who can win.”
Dodge’s word caught in his throat.
King Owin was now beside the peasant. “Will you do your duty? To your king, to your kingdom, to your people?”
Dodge nodded. “I'll try sir.”
“Good.” The king’s sword flashed out, and tapped the Brekshirean on the shoulders. “I appoint you, Grenville Dodge of Brekshire, General of the assembled armies of the Kingdom of Auxia.”
“Thank you, my king.”
“Give us victories, General Dodge.”
***
A thousand miles further North in the Imperial complex in Tassure on the Neva, General Anhake knelt before his emperor.
‘My emperor, I have failed in my task.’ He stated simply.
‘We were close.’ Emperor Baldwin replied. ‘Perhaps we were too ambitious.’
‘I offer up my resignation. I have been unable to fulfill your expectations, and those of our people, and I am willing to help select and update my successor on how to continue our reconquest. Gremenal is a worthy replacement for me.’
‘Nonsense.’ The Trasgu Emperor personally bade his general to rise with a gentle wave of his hand. ‘You failed a single task, after reversing centuries of human expansion. The North is ours, the South from the Great Water Divide to the Fragrant River. No general in the history of Nalbin has been able to accomplish what you’ve done.’
Nodding, Anhake slowly got to his feet, watching as the Emperor went over to the great table upon which was spread the map of Nalbin.
The general walked over, looking over the various markers denoting military formations of the Tassurian Empires, with strips of parchment listing strength, energy, supplies and casualties. On the other side of the Solano were similar markers of the enemy with estimates of similar variables. The humans had gone through so many wholesale unit replacements, consolidations and fresh recruits that it was difficult to tell which units they were actually facing and how many had been withdrawn or held in reserve.
‘Our troops have suffered heavy losses in the drive South, and the war can only get larger. We need replacements and more reinforcements.’
Emperor Baldwin laughed. ‘We’ll run through a second recruitment drive. That and infirmary recoveries would likely cover our losses. As for reinforcements, we could start a draft in Mercia and the reconquered lands. The Satrap of Capena has no honor, nor some of the lords of the Plains.
Anhake sighed. ‘I don’t believe that would be nearly enough.’
‘Nalbin has the first peoples. They would likely be interested in our endeavor to get rid of human dominance.’
Emperor Baldwin put his arm on his victorious general’s shoulder.
‘Call up the other people. Send diplomats to the ogre, goblin, minotaur, cynos, capra, ixion and little folk tribes and the Sabine Kingdoms. Tell them that the time to regain Nalbin from the sea peoples is at hand. That united, the old peoples of the island can retake their ancestral homes. Also send some advisors to evaluate the Duergaren cities and the dragons and griffins. Perhaps we might recruit some of their mercenaries into our ranks. Every effort must be exerted. We must drive the humans to the seas or we shall all perish.’
Howard Blake - Walking in the Air
From
Kshanti
Category Artwork (Digital) / Portraits
Species Western Dragon
Size 3437 x 2413px
File Size 2.57 MB
Comments