“Vannol?!” Of all the things Harold had expected to see during this expedition, the old crossbowman was not among them, him being with elves even less so.
“Good to see you again Harold, I know I named you ‘brute’ but trying to wrestle a major is taking it a little too far don’t you think?” He said with a signature look of smugness.
“But to see you again so soon, and in Altena of all places too, small world huh?”
One of the elven rangers spoke up “Mind introducing us?” Harold noted that the elves seemed quite friendly with the mercenary, not particularly common considering the recent state of affairs between humans and elves.
“This is Harold of Lyon, I worked with him a little over a week ago to do the supply run for Wolfhagen. He’s inexperienced, but I can attest he’s a capable fighter”
“And you are?...” Harold asked
The elf didn’t reply immediately, instead whispering something to Vannol. He couldn’t hear them but he did see Vannol nod in response.
“We’re forward scouts of Wolgast, the newly formed united elven clan. We were scouting Reisegen Baum for any chances of future reclamation. I’m Finnor, the leader of this squad” He raised his hands for a handshake. Divara stepped up to shake it before Harold could, she was the leader after all.
“Divara, from the house of Valcairn. I’ve been sent by the western institute of research to study the leaf cutter nest that has taken up root in Reisegen Baum, it seems we are bound for similar goals. Would you be gracious enough to share anything you have learned of the colony?”
As the two of them spoke the rest of the scouts along with Vannol began to dig through the ant corpses.
“What are you doing?” Harold asked.
Vannol replied “Destroying the death sack. Unlike army ants, you don’t actually have to burn the entire corpses of leafcutters to make sure it doesn’t attract other ants, burning just the death sack is enough”
“Why is that?” Vannol shrugged “No idea”
“Teach me”
“Sure”
As it turns out, the smell of a burning death sack isn’t much better than a burning army ant. The elves also grimaced at the aroma, but seemed far more accustomed to it in comparison to him and Vannol. He actually pitied them for having become somewhat used to it at all, that’s what centuries of fighting does to someone he supposed.
Finnor and Divara finished speaking just as they burnt the last sack.
“We’re staying with Finnor and his squad for a few days before they move camps” Divara said, she looked a little upset about the burning of the death sacks, but seemed to accept that it was necessary if they wished to avoid further confrontations with the leaf cutters.
The major was dragged by the horses while the mediae was carried by the elves, Harold and Vannol. Harold grunted in exertion as he slung a mediae over his shoulders, the mediae was much larger than an army ant worker, heavy enough that everyone except Harold had to carry it in pairs.
Divara came up beside him as they walked. “Quite the company we’ve found ourselves, it appears as though the clans aren’t as shattered as the council would have us believe. With the way the Finnor spoke of this ‘Wolgast’ clan, I believe we’re dealing with more than just a small resistance group”
She sighed before ruffling her hair in frustration. “I really didn’t want to get involved in frontier politics, but it appears as though we don’t really have a choice anymore. You’re acquainted with the mercenary, yes? Try to get some information out of him”
Harold could only nod in response, thanks to Divara’s words the precarious nature of their current situation finally set in. Divara was both a member of a noble line and a representative from one of the most powerful institutions in the west.
He on the other hand was from the house of Lyon, his father had enough military power to challenge all other eastern nobles by themselves. Even if he was currently on bad terms with his family, just the potential of having a Lyon on their side was enough to paint a massive mark on his back.
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They had to tread carefully. Elves were obviously in a desperate situation, and he didn’t doubt their willingness to go to extreme lengths to get what they wanted out of the two of them. He could only hope that Divara knew what to do.
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Finnor had no idea about what he was supposed to do. It was just a routine scouting mission; they'd simply observe the leafcutter nest and return to Chief Sigvald to report its movements. It had swelled rapidly since the last mission which was concerning but not enough to force them to take action, the army ant swarm will crush the fledgling colony when it slowly comes through.
It was just supposed to be a routine mission, yet here he was dealing with a pair of very influential people. He didn’t know the specifics as a lowly squad leader, but having powerful supporters in the east and west may very well be enough to bring Joachim to justice.
Any negotiations with potential allies were supposed to be handled by a general at the very least, he was promoted to squad leader just a few months ago! He was only thirty seven! How was he supposed to handle matters that could decide the future of his race!?!
He performed breathing exercises taught to all rangers to calm his mind. He had to be temperate with his actions, he didn’t know anything about the political or even the military situation at large, any decision he makes here will likely be deeply flawed or outright detrimental to the effort of Wolgast.
So his objective should be to establish a more permanent line of communication and hand off the actual ‘communication’ part to his superiors, hopefully to people who are far more suited for the job than he is.
Thankfully, he had Vannol. The crossbowman’s loyalty was unquestionable at this point, Finnor’s life had been saved by him too many times for it to not be, he could be trusted to serve as line of communication to the Lyon.
More problematic was the Valcairn, she was headed back west in just a few weeks, they couldn’t hope to reach her there. Any negotiations with her will have to happen before she crosses back through Arlon gate, meaning he’ll have to set up a meeting with Divara before their expedition comes to an end.
As he considered the situation a plan slowly formed in his head. He and his squad will head back to Wolfhagen to make their report and hopefully come back to Reisegen Baum with someone with the authority to negotiate.
Vannol will be left behind to hopefully turn the Lyon to their side, or failing that at least keep him open to the idea of opposing Joachim and to set up future lines of communication. He could also try to delay their expedition, not sabotage of course, that was too risky. Perhaps sightseeing? Finnor could already think of a few places off the top of his head that could be worth seeing in Reisegen Baum.
Finnor smirked as he continued to iron out his plan, this may just work.
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Harold put out the last embers of the fire as he dwelled on the events of the day. He’s been ignoring it as best as he can, but he could no longer deny the ugly feeling that’s been born inside of him, a love for violence. The attack on the leafcutter party was a stupid idea, he knew it.
Him and Divara, they didn’t have a plan, an ounce of teamwork or even knowledge of what the other is capable of. Had Divara not been a surprisingly competent fighter, he’d be dead, not even eaten because leafcutters aren’t carnivores. Just left to rot in his armor in the middle of nowhere.
He wanted to put the blame on his companion, he truly did, but who was the one with the military education? Who was the one employed for his expertise in battle? Had he put his foot down Divara probably would’ve listened.
But no, he instead charged in like a bull. No, worse than a bull actually, a bull charging head in would’ve been playing to its strengths.
More memories of similar incidents popped up. His beating of the thief at Alanfer, the incident at the academy, at the end of his fight against the troll, even his very first time hunting with father as a boy. A deep seated love for violence. Why was he like this? Why did he thirst for something that was supposed to be terrible?
An ancestor from generations ago was remembered, along with insults from his peers about him being the descendent of the Red Duke. But it couldn’t be, that was someone from two centuries prior, it just couldn’t be—
A sarcastic voice disrupted his thoughts “Are you trying to relight the fire with your glare? If so keep doing it, might just work”
He turns around to the sight of a trademark wolfish smirk. Strangely, the moon decided to show itself beyond the trees for the first time that night, shining down upon Divara. Her eyes seemed to slightly glow, the yellow auburn orbs exuding an aura of confidence that seemed to pull him in and refuse to let go of his sight.
Her dark hair with its hue of blue seemed so reminiscent of a great wolf, so noble in its grandeur, yet so alluring in its wild nature. Now no longer held up in a braid, it flowed down to her waist, a waist hidden by a nightgown that was quite conservative yet still fit snugly around her lithe form.
Harold realized that he was staring, but he didn’t care. For a single moment, nothing existed. Not his pride, not his nobility, not his savagery. For a single moment, the only thing to exist in his world was his beating heart and the canine goddess made manifest standing in his presence.
“Like what you see? Feel free to praise me, I know I’m beautiful” He never thought he would hear the voice of an angel, nor did he know that they sounded so smug.
He decided to parry rather than block. “Yes, you have the beauty enough to dwarf a goddess. I think I might’ve just fallen in love”
A deep red flush and flabbergasted stuttering was the response he got. He was figuring out her buttons alright, if he can’t win with insults he’ll win with compliments. He’ll be the victor of this war of wits yet.
A shit eating smirk sent her way seemed to force Divara to gather her bearings before sitting down next to him. “Jackass”
“What could you possibly mean?” She rolled her eyes in response.
He decided to redirect the flow of the conversation before she could come up with something clever to say back. “What was that thing you shot the major with?”
“It’s called a handgonne, it uses mana crystals to fire metal balls at high speeds” she said.
Harold was intrigued “Seems powerful, where can I get one?”
“You can’t, mana crystals can only be activated by the mage that made them. The traditionalists claim it's proof that magic depends on the will and mindset of the person, and as such unique to each individual. I don’t believe it for a second, I’ll figure out a way to get this thing to trigger without my input somehow”
One of the many things the woman next to him was trying to accomplish he supposed. So driven, so ambitious, so filled with dreams for the future. He supposed that was where true beauty was to be found, in the burning fire within one's soul. He wondered if his own could one day burn as bright as hers.
He doubted it, so lost, so directionless, so dependent on others for its spark. A Lyon, a person of great pride, that’s what he was supposed to be, yet it felt as though the pride he felt was either trained into him, or made itself known only when he stood over a fallen corpse of a foe; there was no greatness to be found in such pride.
His dark thoughts are banished as Divara launches into one of her tirades about the nature of magic, her bright soul dominating over whatever meager black mark that made him the way he is. He didn’t want to see the ugliness of his own, so he’ll let himself cling to hers instead, if only for a single evening.
