Fan-Fic The Journey Home (Mild language/themes)

[MRPolo13]

The splendour of a full cavalry charge could wake the greatest hero or, if by any chance you find your poor self on the wrong side of the lance, the biggest coward possible. Here stood the brave souls upon the hill, when the horn sounded. Their horses spurred forth down the heap of dirt, their tunics shining in colours. To an enemy, it would seem as if a sea of bright reds, greens, blues and yellows came crashing down, thundering with their great warhorses' hooves.
The great bands of rebelling peasants that inhabited the Eastern Lands were, for some time now, troubling. It started with a small town where it was discovered that the mayor was stealing taxes from the peasants. Of course, the royal crown quickly tried to act, but before they gathered enough troops (at a pace usual for the royal crown, which means about three years), they realised that there was a massive horde of peasants who instead decided to take the matters in their own hands. The peasants got armed and received a backing of some more or less major lords who saw an opportunity in having a full-out revolt against really nothing.
After a few months of crusading (with the appropriate pillaging that is usually involved in this), the peasants finally clashed against a professional army with the backing of the royal crown of Wilderlands. The result was showing within the first minutes. About three hundred heavily armoured men at arms crashed into the uneven ranks of thousands of illetrate fools who quickly tried to rout. The light cavalry merely rode in straight after to slaughter what was left of them.

The night was almost as loud as the day, but the screams of death and pain were replaced with far more cheerful ones. Just outside the main camp, the prisoners fortunate enough to have survived were burying the bodies that were previously thoroughly searched by the victors. In the camp, carts filled with barrels of mead and wine were brought for the soldiers, with the brave men of the heavy cavalry receiving the biggest share and the greatest praise. Their commander stood, smiling lightly to himself, his well trimmed brown beard hiding the wrinkles of his otherwise relatively aged face. A young man stood beside him, his sabre hung low on a gold lined string.
"A grand victory, if I may say so m'lord," the young man addressed his commander.
"Ah, Uriv. How was the battle for you, hmn?" The commander smiled and filled the young nobleman's tankard with mead. "I trust you managed to break even and, with gods' aid, even earned some money even before getting paid?"
"Aye. It wasn't too hard either. Those idiots got fat and comfortable throughout those months. What world do we live in for a simplest dog to be wearing silver while some noblemen have to go on wearing only wool and linen on their hard working backs," sighed the man at arms. He sat down beside his commander, though somewhat stiffly considering the chestplate he still wore even after the battle, just to make sure no gentleman had the idea of inviting him to a duel, fueled by the magical effects of alcohol.
"Don't forget that both the dog and the nobleman end up in the same ditch once their time has come," replied his commander, though not too angrily, for he knew that the passion of young blood was still strong in his companion's heart. "We've some distance away before you can once more come to live with your father, at least a month's worth of journey. By then I expect you to realise that we are all made out of the same clay, even if it is filled with more and less noble wines."
A brief silence filled with thought was broken once again by Uriv. "If it is not too rude to ask, my lord, is that why you choose to use a rather peasant name instead of changing it?" he asked. "I understand that that is the name that was given to you and was worn by your great grandfather, but nevertheless, 'Polo' sounds a bit... odd."
The old commander simply laughed and patted his drinking friend on the back. "Yes you are right, it is a name that would be given to a peasant, likely of the lesser sort too. But you are also right that the reason for me continuing to use that name is because it simply does not matter. See, in my years of living I saw many a beggar fighting as the bravest warriors during the greatest struggle, and many a king cowering behind walls of shields while their men were getting slaughtered. Now, I suggest you rest a while, we shall set off tomorrow morning after speaking with the king about an appropriate payment."
The night continued on into the morning, and for some even far into the afternoon, but not for the two gentlemen and their company, for them and their servants their time of leaving was at dawn, after paying off the rest of the heavy brigade.

Yeah, don't expect me to complete this, as with my other writings, because I just get stuck and don't know how to continue. Just a warning!

 

[MRPolo13]

Of Farewells and of Bandits.

The king was greatful to the two for the grand charge down the hill, the beauty of which was already being immortalised by splendid artists who were there to watch. The king requested Lord Polo to return in few years' time, if not for a feast than at least to enjoy the sight of the statue that was to be erected in the capital of the kingdom in his honour. He happily paid his due (and, surprisingly for a king, even gave a little extra) to the men, and gave the early travellers thirteen strong horses, one for each rider and one extra for additional cargo, and saw Sir Uriv and Lord Polo ride out himself.

"Lord Polo," the company was stopped briefly by the deepest of voices. They saw an enormous man approaching them on a huge stalion, his thick, grey beard falling down low to his belt. Indeed, from a distance it would seem like he was the proudest of Dwarves riding upon a large pony, but from up close one would spot that this giant could oversize a Dwarf and his pony, likely twice over. He wore a large sword upon his side, one that could normally be used with two hands, but one that he had not much trouble wielding with one.
"Ah, Lord Arrix," chuckled Polo. "How has the hunt for some of the more wealthy enemies gone, hmn?"
"I've no complaints, certainly. Let me ride with you for a time. I, too, am heading West, towards my home fiefs, joined by my two squires." He turned his fat head around to make sure said squires were definitely following him, then turned his gaze onto the young stature of Uriv. "And who may this be? Eyes as green as the plains further West and hair as brown as Southern forests. And look at that rounded nose. You must be the son of Gallaren Astrius?"
"Aye master Arrix. That I am. Under the request of my good sir father, Lord Polo took me in to join his company for this war," master Uriv replied politely. He heard great tales of Lord Arrix back in the days when Grief's forces plundered Altera. It was said that he earned his fame when he cleaved a powerful demon general in half, and indeed, since then his family's crest has been a pair of black demon horns upon the sea of red. "And you yourself, master Arrix? What brings you this far East?"
"My youngest son is reaching an age of adulthood, soon to take up his arms against the likes of undead and Grief Herself. So, Lord Gollort, who took my son into his home to train him for those past years, invited me to watch the charge." At that, he suddenly gave a hiss, which quickly turned into a roar of laughter that cut deeply into the forest, likely scaring not only the wildlife, but farmers who thought a dragon was attacking. "And what a charge it was! O the greatness. There were thousands of them, and indeed was I proud of my offspring to be holding so well."
"Now we can only hope that he is as brave when it comes to other conquests, of far more subtle nature, that involve far more dangerous and insane creatures," smirked lightly Lord Polo of Marograd, who was a good friend of Lord Arrix Gonsten, and knew that his two other sons were not the bravest of men when it came to sexual conquests.
Arrix grumbled, but then gave a slight chuckle. "My little boy is definitely braver than his gods forsaken brothers, for certes. He'll no doubt find a good lady, perhaps from a newer house to bring fresh blood in, who'll keep his wits at bay and his spear where it belongs." They all laughed, and after a brief moment it took for the old heap of man that was Lord of Gonsten family to recover, Arrix once again turned to Uriv. "And what of you, son? Got anyone in particular, or just visiting the wenches from time to time, eh?"
Uriv's face turned slightly redder than usual, which Polo simply took with further laughter, but he managed to give a satisfactionary reply. "I am lookig for the right lady myself, Master Arrix. I have no doubt that when she comes, her glare alone will make me want to die over and over, just to be sure that upon my death I'd see her."
"Aye. My lady Marianne did the same to me back in her days of glory. And by Nether would I happily get enchanted again!"

The party had to split the next morning, for Arrix lived further North and had to break away already. They wished each other a great farewell, exchanging brief parting gifts, and went their own ways.
It was on that day, only hours after the two groups parted, that the twelve riders encountered bandits. You must know that banditry becomes especially popular straight after any war, for it is then that people realise they have weapons for war, but no bodies to stab them into. As such, right after war travelling parties are often well equipped and ready to fight off an army, but often times so are the bandits. These bandits, however, were no ordinary brigands. There were ten of them guarding the road directly, no doubt with more in the hiding.
"Halt," a man wearing a lightly rusting chestplate, lined with fur, and a nasal helmet covering all but his ginger beard, raised his hand. "There is a toll to continue down this road. It is a dangerous one, and we ensure that you and your horses can keep safe."
Lord Polo looked to Uriv and gestured for him to ride forward. "It is good to learn how to trade with fools, for then trading with smart men ought to be easier"
Though hesitantly, Uriv complied and rode forward. "We are willing to pay for our safe passage, good sir! We are weary with travel and seek no offense."
The bandit smirked. "Those are grand news, good sirs. The toll we require, to ensure that you can be as comfortable as one can be on your journey, is fifty Radiants per man and one whole hundred per horse. We also want your spare horse."
Polo and his company laughed, then the old lord himself rode forward. "My good sir, those are not acceptable terms. The horse is ours, given kindly as a gift, so it is taken out of the question completely. Half your prices and no quarrel shall arise from our two parties."
In response the marauder laughed. "We're forty men strong just here alone, with reinforcements ready mere minutes away. What do you and your five or six friends have that can scare us, huh?"
One thing ought to be remembered about Lord Polo Destrius-Hawklight. When someone pointed a weapon at him he lost much of his patience, even when usually he was as calm as the seas far East, in the famed Northern Kingdoms. Therefore, in a flash, his horse spurred forward, crashing into the man and then killing him instantly with a hoof in the head. Before anyone could react, Lord Polo, still mightily strong, cut apart two more brigants, one after another. Polo's companions were prepared and quickly turned their horses to charge into the forests, while Uriv drew his sabre and rode in to aid his father's friend.
Polo correctly guessed the bluff, and no losses were counted on his side. Merely three additional men were caught and killed in the bushes, and soon only one bandit was left breathing, a young Elf. Generally speaking, Elves are some of the most graceful creatures you can find breathing, and in a sense this Elf was no exception. Long, trimmed black hair fell to his shoulders, but, uncommon to his kind, his pale face was decorated with very light facial hair. He sat on his knees, tied up, and not showing too much fear.
"What's your name, boy?" Polo asked, even if the Elf was possibly as old as him.
"Hallreen," the Elf replied briefly, and before Polo could ask any further questions, he said "the camp lies about two minutes' journey away from here, to the South. There are eighteen of them, one of whom is a nobleman who put us together, calls himself Erlandan. Will you let me go free now, or at least slay me?"
Slightly surprised by the answer to the question Polo had not yet asked, the lord cut the young Elf's ties and let him go free. The company then turned and rode towards the unexpecting bandits' camp.

 

[MRPolo13]

Of camps and of captives

Before the men rode into the bandit camp, Uriv suggested that someone should scout ahead and see if the Elf was telling the truth. One of Lord Polo's friends and companions, sir Joahin, who stayed beside Polo for some years now as his vassal volunteered. Everyone knew that the man had his wits about him and so no objection was found, and Joahin dismounted his destrier and soon disappeared through the bushes. The gentlemen waited, first for a minute, then for two, and so on until ten minutes have passed, when Joahin suddenly returned through the same way he emerged.
"I scouted around the whole encampment," said he, his jacket covered in drying mud of early Autumn. "The Elf didn't lie, sire. There are indeed eighteen bandits guarding the camp, with three on the lookout. They didn't spot me though, but they are well equipped." He took a long drink from a flask he was given, and then continued. "I suggest taking out the lookout first. For this I'd take another one or two people who can stay silent. Then we can attack the bandits. Their leader seems like a nasty creature. An Earthspawn, who wore a blood red tunic with dark green head of a bull."
"Clan Kor'taar," Polo nodded thoughtfully. "One of the families that supported the rebellion. Mountain Eathspawns would gladly take down the royalty if it meant they could have the mines to themselves, especially the prouder clans. I guess the Earthspawn saw that they stood no chance and fled, but stayed around to preserve at least some of his honour."
Deciding it was too dangerous to keep a rogue nobleman alive, the men split into two groups. Joahin chose two other scouts he knew he could depend on and went into the forest. The rest prepared their armour, putting on chestplates, helmets and gauntlets, happily helping each other. They then started sneaking (as quietly as their steel would allow them) through the bushes, and before soon they could spot the bandit camp. They all ran out at the same time, and from the other side the three men who were sent to take out the sentries emerged too.
The fight was over quickly. One of Lord Polo's kinsmen suffered a cut to the leg, but otherwise no one on their side was hurt. Knowing that the pests could not be reasoned with properly, the company finished off the remaining bandits, and then opened up the pens to see what loot the bandits had gathered.
Though it was likely that the bandits were in business for a short amount of time, they still gathered substantial amounts of loot. Aside from three peasant women and one man whom they have kept prisoner, few chests lied around filled with golden and silver coins, as well as jewels of all sorts of shapes and sizes. The company took what they could from there, some men switching out their weapons for those of bandits. Uriv himself got a beautiful casket filled with jewelry which nicely fit into his baggage. They then freed the three peasant women and questioned the man, for the women said he was not with them.
"A bandit hmn? Tell me why should we not kill you right now," Polo calmly pointed his sword at the man.
"No reason, sire," the bandit replied with a harsh voice for such a young man. "It's not like I have anywhere else to go. Name's Yarev, though I don't doubt you don't care much about that either, sire. I've been stuck here for some time now, after my group was killed off. Bastards kept me cos I told them my father was a merchant and could pay them for my life."
"And I'm guessing that's a lie?"
"'Course it is. Do I look like my father could be a merchant? Let alone a rich one? But they kept me, since they were poor as dirt back then and clinged onto any hope of profit they could. Then they just got used to their beating toy."
Uriv stepped forward and cleared his throat. "If I may, my lord. I think he'll do a fine job at scouting and doing some of the harder jobs. If he he escapes, he won't exactly survive for long, and we won't lose anything. He can take our spare horse. It's still strong enough to carry him. Worst comes to worst we can just kill him."
Polo looked at him questioningly, but with slight interest. After couple of minutes of talking, they decided to keep Yarev alive, at least for now, because these lands were still dangerous enough for an army to be marching prepared. A company of thirteen was always better than that of twelve, and the group had enough resources to keep them going, especially after the looting of the bandit camp.
They decided to rest the night in the bandit camp (with one or two grumbles that they should not have freed the peasant ladies quite yet, but those were quickly silenced by Lord Polo himself, who'd hear none of it). The next day they prepared and set off on their way back West, where their families waited for their return.

 

[MRPolo13]

Of Autumns and of the East

The thirteen riders looted what was left of the camp - and of course what little they could carry - and set off once again. The days of late Fogwater were beautiful that year. Winter's claws crept up slowly, embracing the trees with its golden colours, though few leaves met the ground yet. The sun was getting lower, and gave the forests a magical aura, and it was at this time of year that the best game could be caught. This, of course, the company did throughout the following days. Joahin even managed to kill a deer, and after a feast the remains were smoked and added to the provisions.
Their days passed in this way, and the large, mostly pine forests slowly started to give way to smaller forests with more deciduous trees and with an even brighter array of colours. Then these forests faded too, and revealed the first human fields for weeks. These were rich lands of the East, which were always famous for their agricultural spine. Though elsewhere it was rare to see entire hectares dedicated to pastures, since animals themselves were a rare and expensive commodity, the East always had enough lands to spare to accommodate for all kinds of fields. The peasants were well-fed and would greet the noblemen happily. From this point on Polo's company could also count on sleeping under a tavern roof every night, which in itself was a blessing, for at around midday of twelfth day after departing from the war camp the men saw nasty grey clouds creeping up on the horizon. And without surprise the next day surprised them with a massive thunderstorm, which soon gave way to just a mere drizzle, which lasted throughout the whole day, and the five days that followed, turning the road into a river of mud and getting the horses stuck regularly.
Eventually the travelers arrived at Shalsberg, named after the goddess Shalherana, who was said to have shielded the founder of the city from hail by growing a large oak tree just behind him. The tree remained to be the city's coat of arms, even though all trees in the nearest miles were cut down decades ago. But as they neared the city they grew more and more concerned - it was clear, both by the closed gates and the traders which sat outside the city impatiently, likely for days, that something was wrong.
"Halt," one of the guards, definitely the more sober of the two, shouted. As with the rest of the city guard, he carried a spear and had a club at his side, with a dark blue tunic that bore a large dark green tree - the coat of arms of the city. He wore an open helmet and mail armour underneath the material. "There's no entry into the city under the command of its Guildmeister, good Patron Marquil."
"Aye... a-any issues with that, you go talk to captain," the other guard, a bit more intoxicated, said. "He patrols the gates every... every m-mi- ten minutes sire."
"What's the problem that causes Shalsberg, one of the more peaceful and beautiful cities in known Altera, to be closed, good sir guard?" the leader of the band, Lord Polo, asked politely. "And yes, I would very much like a chat with your good captain of the guard."
"City's been ravaged by a murderer sire," the sober 'good sir guard' said. "Five whores and three beggars so far. Gruesome as all Nether too, sire. Something I wouldn't want to see in the torture chamber even if they paid well. But you lot seem like knights, so I'll get the captain when he comes around."
Polo nodded, then jumped off his horse and into the shallow mud that built up on the poorly cobbled road.
"I guess we'll have to wait. It is no option for us to go around the city - the nearest Dwarven bank from here is a good hundred miles away, and I don't fancy taking this much gold through the forests down South, especially not after the rebellion."
"What the Nether is it you dog's teats, I'm a bit busy with a lockdown," the shout halted all further discussions, and a man with the same blue and green tunic - though with touches of silver lining - came out of the small wooden doors inside the main gates. He then stopped, looked at Polo, then looked at the guards. "Why didn't you inform me Lord Polo Destrius Hawklight, in person, gave us the honour of visiting you sacks of mud?!"
"Greetings to you too, Gallivand. Surprised to see you here, and as a captain too!" Polo chuckled. "I see not even status can change your face though." He then turned to his company. "This is Gallivand. He was a Decurion in my warband back during the Exodus. Now, clearly, a captain of the guard!"
"Come in, come in. Would be nice if the city guard gained some help and, more importantly, some brains into this case."
The guards brought in a couple of ostlers who took the horses inside the city, while the men went into a building just inside the gates. The room felt a little stuffy with fifteen people inside, but soon Gallivand ordered Polo's companions to be accommodated properly, while Uriv, Gallivand and him could talk.
"The city's down in drains it seems," Gallivand said. "Eight murders, all expertly done. As usual no one saw anything. The working ladies are scared to go out at night, and the guilds are breathing down my neck. People have started calling the killer 'Butcher of Root Street', after the street where he first murdered. That of course enraged the butchers' guild, who don't want to lose their reputation. They're offering a hefty reward too." At that, he glanced at the newcomers and smiled. "Don't assume you'd wish to help me, hm?"
"Couple of questions first," Uriv spoke before Polo could even open his mouth. "What's the pay, where were the murders, and where can we stay?"
"Fifty five thousand Radiants are offered for the man alive. Dead will get you only a quarter, since the public can't rejoice in watching the execution. I'm sure the working ladies would appreciate your support too, perhaps in more... physical pleasures, if not in money. The first two murders happened at Root Street, hence his name. The next was the first murder to include a note, which said 'All shall hail the divine roots', happened at palace square, right in front of the mayor's house. Two more happened at different times on Second Street. Then there was Branch Road, Hangman's Trail and Red Parade." After a brief silence and a sigh, he continued, "Those murders... Nothing like I've seen before, and I fought under the portal, was in the first line with my very hands defending the weak. But that monster... Well, he'd pull out their intestines and wrap them around the victim's neck. The eyes were cut out too. It's all quite nasty, really. We didn't keep the bodies out of fear of causing a public outcry."
The two men nodded, "And what about a place to stay?" Uriv asked after a brief moment of silence to take all information in.
"You can stay at the Great Log Inn. The name might sound dodgy, but the cook is great - I definitely recommend the cabbage stew."
"You did well," Polo acknowledged Uriv's involvement after the two men left the small barracks, followed by their companions.
"Thank you, my lord," Uriv replied simply. "I guess tomorrow we'll head to the Butchers' Guild, then ask the 'working ladies' what they know."

You thought this was dead? Nope, Chuck Testa.