Post by Astrid Oathsteel on Nov 17, 2012 22:20:41 GMT -5
“Ten soldiers wisely led
Will beat a hundred
Without a head.”
Astrid sat on a fallen log beside the crackling flames of a campfire, watching as the sparks flew up like leaves on an autumn wind every time one of her companions stirred the burning wood. Her hair in the glow of the campfire looked like the very flames she watched, all reds and golds and glinting oranges. She was lost in thought, letting the warmth of the flames lick against her chilled cheeks. A call from the woods broke her reverie and she quickly stood and reached over a shoulder to grab the hilt of Skoldin, though she quickly recognized the particular furs and leather armor of another Child of Zorcan. She moved with the eight others in her party over towards the horse as the man dismounted and motioned with both hands to gather around him as he began to speak of another Rumerian camp they’d found in a cave in the Upper Knockskulls. It was a raiding party, and that far north they were certainly heading into the Northness area. Plans were made, each given their task for dawnbreak. There were rarely more than ten Children of Zorcan in one area at any given time – rarely even more than a hundred in the entire country, but they fought together so well, so fierce and determined and well-led that ten were all that were needed to take out even large raiding parties. Some rumors claimed ten Children of Zorcan could defeat the entire Rumerian Cavalry if they set their mind to it!
Astrid moved over to where her horse was tethered, Furusta she’d named him. The horse that she’d taken from a Rumerian Raider during a battle in a small valley in the Knockskulls. Furusta had served her well, and had learned a few ‘tricks’ that made things easier for both of them. She’d not returned to any decent sized settlement since then, so she still used the saddle, bit and bridle that she’d stolen the horse with. Grabbing a cloth, she tugged the saddle over to the fire and set about cleaning it, polishing any metal bits and rubbing in any stains of blood that had fallen upon it. This would be the first time she’d been able to truly get a close look at it as she examined it carefully. But what was this? The sewing was different, the threads keeping the leather together was not quite right. She leaned closer to the fire and looked again, and sure enough for about five inches of thread, the sewing held a slightly different slant to it.
She leaned back from the flames again, and drew her knife, the one she used to eat her meals, and carefully slit the threads. They popped one by one, and then she used the knife to slip under that leather and tug it upwards just to see if there was anything wrong with this spot. Tucked inside, between the two pieces of leather, was a parchment. One small parchment folded into a small square. She dug with her knife to pull it out, then opened it up and glanced over it. She’d never learned to read, so she had no clue what was said on the paper but she recognized the symbols, the signet stamped onto the thin paper – Randver. House Randver, the Jarl of Northness. Astrid’s father.
That was not all, as if that weren’t enough. There was also a symbol that she recognized very well, that of an outline of a bird with a crescent moon on it’s chest. The Night Crow. She’d thought they were gone, annihilated so long ago, their reign of terror cut short. She stood and walked towards one of her companions and held out the parchment to him. “Read this to me.” He took it, read over it once himself, and his eyes grew wide. He fidgeted, glancing around to the others who quickly noted his demeanor and began to gather around. Finally, he found his voice and read the note.
There was then a list of villages, and assignments for their raiding parties. As they were read, she drew in a deep breath; the Night Crow was much larger than it had ever been. At least five times as large if she remembered correctly. Then the Jarl’s signature and symbol at the bottom. Corvus? The leader of the Night Crow? It did not tell them much, but Astrid while uneducated, was intelligent enough to put two and two together – the Jarl was plotting against Alzorc. He was willingly shedding Zorcan Blood.
Her eyes slid to the side, a memory creeping into the forefront of her mind. Standing in the crowd, watching a man being whipped. The Bloodied. She had to find him.
Will beat a hundred
Without a head.”
The Children of Zorcan were respected by the people of Alzorc, and feared by those that made the foolish mistake of stepping onto Zorcan soil. Alzorc, whether winter or summer, was a hard land; a world so harsh that there was no need to take care of the weak, the sick, the old for the land itself took them when it was their time. Some have called the Zorcan people savages, barbarians, uncultured beasts whose only thought from birth is to die for their land. It is probable that this final rumor stems from the shout many of the warriors of the land give when going into battle, “Born to die for Alzorc!”
Alzorc being a land rich in natural resources, the other countries look upon what we have and lust for the power that would be given to them if they had control of our country. Our small strip of land that borders the Maelstrom and the Knockskulls is our life, our duty, our destiny—no one shall take this from us. What we have bled for, wept for, died for, strive for!
Astrid sat on a fallen log beside the crackling flames of a campfire, watching as the sparks flew up like leaves on an autumn wind every time one of her companions stirred the burning wood. Her hair in the glow of the campfire looked like the very flames she watched, all reds and golds and glinting oranges. She was lost in thought, letting the warmth of the flames lick against her chilled cheeks. A call from the woods broke her reverie and she quickly stood and reached over a shoulder to grab the hilt of Skoldin, though she quickly recognized the particular furs and leather armor of another Child of Zorcan. She moved with the eight others in her party over towards the horse as the man dismounted and motioned with both hands to gather around him as he began to speak of another Rumerian camp they’d found in a cave in the Upper Knockskulls. It was a raiding party, and that far north they were certainly heading into the Northness area. Plans were made, each given their task for dawnbreak. There were rarely more than ten Children of Zorcan in one area at any given time – rarely even more than a hundred in the entire country, but they fought together so well, so fierce and determined and well-led that ten were all that were needed to take out even large raiding parties. Some rumors claimed ten Children of Zorcan could defeat the entire Rumerian Cavalry if they set their mind to it!
Astrid moved over to where her horse was tethered, Furusta she’d named him. The horse that she’d taken from a Rumerian Raider during a battle in a small valley in the Knockskulls. Furusta had served her well, and had learned a few ‘tricks’ that made things easier for both of them. She’d not returned to any decent sized settlement since then, so she still used the saddle, bit and bridle that she’d stolen the horse with. Grabbing a cloth, she tugged the saddle over to the fire and set about cleaning it, polishing any metal bits and rubbing in any stains of blood that had fallen upon it. This would be the first time she’d been able to truly get a close look at it as she examined it carefully. But what was this? The sewing was different, the threads keeping the leather together was not quite right. She leaned closer to the fire and looked again, and sure enough for about five inches of thread, the sewing held a slightly different slant to it.
She leaned back from the flames again, and drew her knife, the one she used to eat her meals, and carefully slit the threads. They popped one by one, and then she used the knife to slip under that leather and tug it upwards just to see if there was anything wrong with this spot. Tucked inside, between the two pieces of leather, was a parchment. One small parchment folded into a small square. She dug with her knife to pull it out, then opened it up and glanced over it. She’d never learned to read, so she had no clue what was said on the paper but she recognized the symbols, the signet stamped onto the thin paper – Randver. House Randver, the Jarl of Northness. Astrid’s father.
That was not all, as if that weren’t enough. There was also a symbol that she recognized very well, that of an outline of a bird with a crescent moon on it’s chest. The Night Crow. She’d thought they were gone, annihilated so long ago, their reign of terror cut short. She stood and walked towards one of her companions and held out the parchment to him. “Read this to me.” He took it, read over it once himself, and his eyes grew wide. He fidgeted, glancing around to the others who quickly noted his demeanor and began to gather around. Finally, he found his voice and read the note.
Corvus,
The reports I find favorable, and payment is exacted as promised. Growth is imminent, and when the crown finds itself a new head, payment will be hundredfold. You will find the list of villages below, leave nothing.
There was then a list of villages, and assignments for their raiding parties. As they were read, she drew in a deep breath; the Night Crow was much larger than it had ever been. At least five times as large if she remembered correctly. Then the Jarl’s signature and symbol at the bottom. Corvus? The leader of the Night Crow? It did not tell them much, but Astrid while uneducated, was intelligent enough to put two and two together – the Jarl was plotting against Alzorc. He was willingly shedding Zorcan Blood.
Her eyes slid to the side, a memory creeping into the forefront of her mind. Standing in the crowd, watching a man being whipped. The Bloodied. She had to find him.