The Maw of War

The frigid wind carried the scent of salt and the iron tang of cold stone. The city was on edge. The very atmosphere vibrated with anticipation, the certainty that soon, Ostiarium would be swallowed by the chaos of battle.

Ostiarium had its army. A mix of soldiers, mercenaries, holy warriors, and settlers with nothing left but the walls around them.

The Lord Commander had sent word to Captain Carver and other officers that every able body would be armed. Some of the city’s civilians had already tried fleeing to the docks, hoping for passage away from the war to come, but there were few ships left, and they were a last resort. The people had no choice but to remain, pick up a weapon, or die behind locked doors.

Sir Eudon Zane had been seen in the barracks, speaking with his officers, assessing which men could be trusted in the chaos and which were likely to break. He did not offer promises of victory. He simply made sure that when the walls were tested, they would not break first.

Soldiers gathered in the courtyards of the keep, checking their gear and praying to their Pillars. Others moved along the parapets, hauling supplies, reinforcing the walls. And still others sharpened their blades and affixed arrowheads, the steel teeth of war. Vastad was like a ravenous beast prowling just outside of view, its maw watering, eagerly poised to whet its appetite with the blood of Arcadians and Helians alike.

In the alleyways and underpasses, men of questionable allegiance whispered about what would happen if Ostiarium fell. Some had made plans to switch sides, thinking the Arcadians might spare them. Others spoke of fleeing into the heart of Arcadia.

Whether they stood, fled, or betrayed, Vastad would find them all. None would truly escape its hungry jaws unscathed.