Rites of Yore pt1

A week had passed since the last messenger had come from Soldor's Bastion. That had led Andolliron Starsleeper to believe that something was undoubtedly wrong. He had withdrawn the outer farmers into his walls, archers ready and doubled in number since the realization days earlier. There were farms inside of Mendü that could support a seige if needed.

His scrying spells alone showed that the Bastion was overrun with demonic forces. It was perhaps only a matter of time until the host marched here. Andolliron frowned deeper than he had been. He had not smiled in a century, little reason existing in such a dark world. Keeping the people safe had become his priority over the decades, knowing that not one of the Remnant would seek an heir to the throne. Or come to terms on who should rule, for that matter.

His own manor came into view. The elven archmage could remember the last time it had been used for stately business, the noble domicile now the town hospital. His walk for the evening had taken him closer than expected. Yet, he did not turn away as he heard the cries of the wounded. Men and women alike that served to defend their homes, now valiant in their resting poses as what few clerics of sound faith attended to them.

He continued his walk, course unaltered.

~~

"Fresh dates! Come get your fresh dates! Dates! Freshly picked!"

"Clothing for the pretty ladies! Feels as if it'su
never there and makes everyone know you are!"

"Me-flavored water! Come taste me knees! Five copper!"

This was the bustle of the day, within the fortified walls. Common and noble were all brightly colored in the fabrics made possible by the weavers. Magic twinkled between their fingers as they plucked at looms. Merchants pitched their sales as people browsed. Guards watched, some stoic while others bored.

The only ones that were not colored in such bright fashion were the grey robed mages of the Mendü. None dared to impede their work, not out of fear but respect. And bowmen watched the streets from posts above them all, walking along boardwalks and sentry posts.

The gates to the city were open, though heavily watched. Not that much traffic passed through once shining agricultural jewel of Dalen. It was these guards that saw the shifting number of demons and devils in the fields growing closer, led by one at the front, a cage housing a demon with great bat wings sat patiently.

"An incursion!" Called out one the guards.

"Maybe," one of the tower guards spoke to another. He rubbed his beard, morning bread crumbs tumbling out. "Never seen them act like this, though. They want to be seen."

"Should we raise the alarm?" Spoke his compatriot, exhaling a cloud of hobbit leaf. He set the pipe on the table and cocked his heavy crossbow.

"Dunno... Where is the captain?"

"Guess is as good as..." The other trailed off, noticing that the leader had raised a hand and was walking forward still, the abyssal forces behind coming to a halt. This guard propped his crossbow up on the railing, sighted out to seventy yards.

Other guards were quick to notice the activity and prepped for battle. Mages bared their arms to cast, hands at the ready. Archers prepared their arrows, fingers keeping the shafts in their place as they eyed the host before them.

"Summon Lord Starsleeper! Quickly now!" hissed the second man. The first grunted and rested his cheek against the stock. A messenger boy was sent immediately.

~~

The lord's arrival to the walls was silent and was met with the same. The elf gazed upon the demons before him. His deep frown did not change even as he felt curiosity pull at his attention. He had never seen them act like this before. The leader in front strode forward, a white standard attached to a branch of mahogany in the traditional Dalen "white peace". Long he stared at the host before summoning his retainers.

The defense had been manned, arrows and bolts waiting in the tension that was stretched taut as Lord Starsleeper stepped onto the field. Flanking him was a tiefling and a human, both armored lightly in enchanted leather with spellrods hanging from their belts. Their swords had been angled to be drawn quickly in case of an attack. It was at Andolliron's silent hand signal that stopped them in their tracks. The elf himself continued only fifteen more steps before he stopped. He knew what was before him; a Fury, a denizen of the very Hells that had besieged Dalen for the past century now caged behind inscribed bars. "Ah! Lord Starsleeper himself! I bid you welcome on this fine day," the Fury spoke in a greeting tone, words darkly coated in honey.

"I give you nothing but my attention. Do not waste what you clearly wanted," the former Circle Mage demanded.

"Of course, Lord Starsleeper! I come at the behest of our newly crowned king! He bids thee welcome in his new kingdom and peace to reign," spoke a man in robe behind the cage. Andolliron recognized him as Soldor's envoy, his elf eyes picking out the dull glint of mail under the robes.

"I have spoken of this before, envoy. I do not recognize Estoban's claim," he replied. "You know as well as Soldor that the throne does not belong to his family." The Fury chuckled behind the bars at that, a silent glare from Andolliron meeting it. "Of royal blood or majority vote of the council, to which neither was had."

"Please, Lord Starsleeper," the envoy went with a placating gesture. "Allow us to state our case."

The elf lord was silent but gave a very slight nod to continue. Icy winds blew across the walls, stinging the eyes of the men. When their eyes opened, the envy looked up not at Starsleeper, but behind him. “There is royal blood, Lord Starsleeper.” The voice was cold, just as the icy winds before. It was also familiar, beside him in blacked robes stood a large man. From the hood, he could see handsome features and long locks of silver hair peeking through.

The retainers were quick, both unsheathing blades and pivoting with their strikes. Sainte backed away from the attempts, knowing they could not harm him. Andolliron ordered them to stand down, swords sheathed affirmatively. "Long lives the Lord Sainte, once more come forth. You speak of royal blood, Sainte… who then?" He tilted his head a bit. "Certainly not you. Who, of the families, are you claiming to be a bastard heir?'

"My grandson, Draken; you call him a bastard, I call him our savior. Long have you suffered by the hands of the demonkin. Draken dreams of a new reality, a land I find something fit for Dalen. I know of the old laws, Starsleeper, as do you. Perhaps we should speak more about this in a peaceful manner?" His icy eyes showed a glint of promise.

"I have your word, Lord Sainte?" Andolliron asked, raising his eyebrow. "Indeed," was the reply. He nodded but pointed at the Fury. "That can begone from here…"