Peace

Peace

Status: Finished

Genre: Fantasy

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Fantasy

Summary

Ten years on from the Shadow Wars peace has seen Severine thrive under the continued leadership of King Titus. Alexander Tor’al has vanished into the footnotes of history while Nathan Drison has retired to the quiet life. For Brent T’elc, Chosen of Heironeous, life has also changed. No longer adventuring beyond the next horizon he has finally found peace in one location. Commander of an army and beloved leader in Land of Zealots he continues to walk the difficult path of Chosen. Yet Brent knows all to well how fickle finding peace can be. I have used the D&D religion of Heironeous and have done so only out of deep and abiding respect and love for it. I have written added my own analects and personality, but have tried to keep as honestly to some materials found in the D&D world as I can. This is, for legal purposes, a fanfiction under the Open Games Licence.

Summary

Ten years on from the Shadow Wars peace has seen Severine thrive under the continued leadership of King Titus. Alexander Tor’al has vanished into the footnotes of history while Nathan Drison has retired to the quiet life.

For Brent T’elc, Chosen of Heironeous, life has also changed. No longer adventuring beyond the next horizon he has finally found peace in one location. Commander of an army and beloved leader in Land of Zealots he continues to walk the difficult path of Chosen. Yet Brent knows all to well how fickle finding peace can be.


I have used the D&D religion of Heironeous and have done so only out of deep and abiding respect and love for it. I have written added my own analects and personality, but have tried to keep as honestly to some materials found in the D&D world as I can. This is, for legal purposes, a fanfiction under the Open Games Licence.

Chapter43 (v.1) - Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: November 11, 2016

Reads: 141

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: November 11, 2016

A A A

A A A

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

 

Furiously Brent strode among the tents, issuing orders swiftly and with little patience. When he was stopped by a group of rabid warriors who wanted to pursue the giants, he snarled that he would personally see to the removal of their balls if they left camp. Shouldering his way passed he hissed that if they wanted to help they should help set the camp to rights.

 

Flinging back the tent flap of the command centre Brent shouted, “You thrice-damned idiots!” Titus and Jarad looked up from where they stood conversing. Titus lifted his hand in warning. “Pardon?” Crossing the floor Brent slammed the palm of his hands into the gold chestplate that the king wore. “You dog-breathed, Grummush loving son of a whore,” he hissed, “you told me you tried to negotiate.” The king’s personal guards grabbed his arms. Baring his teeth in challenge Brent’s eyes glowered with fury. “I’ll wipe the floor with you unless you unhand me now!

 

“T’elc, what is the meaning of this?” demanded Titus keeping his distance. Twisting his wrists Brent grabbed the forearms of the men holding him and heaved. One lost his balance and fell while the other managed to contain the irate paladin until he scored a punch to the temple. “You lied to me!” thundered Brent. He pointed to those outside the tent. “This whole thing could have been prevented!

 

Jarad stepped between them. “Please Chosen,” he said quietly, “calm yourself. If there was a way to save my people then tell me.” Brent gritted his teeth and continued to glare at Titus over Jarad’s shoulder. “Did you even bother to send a diplomat to their Jarl?”

“I seem to recall sending you,” Titus drawled. Brent bristled.

“On reconnaissance,” he replied scathingly. “You told me to avoid contact and observe only.” The king folded his arms over his chest.

“I sent several diplomats.”

“So did I,” interjected Jarad taking over the conversation. “Several of my wizards are linguist specialists and speak fluent Jorlten.”

 

“Then what happened?”

Jarad shrugged apologetically. “The Jarl wasn’t too interested in talking so much as tossing them like a ball between themselves. As you could imagine, our people didn’t want to try again. One got through though – to their spirtspeaker.”

“And?” demanded Brent.

“He told him to leave. That his presence had stopped the maug dirlagraun slag from progressing.”

 

Brent rubbed his forehead and growled a string of half uttered curses under his breath. Running out of breath he paused to ask, “And you didn’t bother to ask them for a translation of maug dirlagraun slag?” Titus snorted,

“And what difference would that have made? They crossed the border and ransacked a town.”

“They’re not invading,” whispered Brent. Turning he bellowed, “THEY’RE ON A DAMN HUNTING TRIP!!!”

 

The men looked stunned. Brent fixed his eyes on Jarad and hissed, “My clerics will stay until the day after tomorrow. We’ll get your folk healed up then they are gone. They will receiving their orders directly from me,” he added looking pointedly at the king. Titus seethed at his insolence. “You dare speak to a king this way?”

“I dare speak to a fellow brother-in-arms this way when he’s been a fool, YES!” retorted Brent heatedly. “I suggest you both pull your men out. Today if possible. Rebuild Aberteen, plant a garden - I don’t bloody care. Just get away from this area.”

 

Jarad’s cool composure melted under the verbal attack. “Are you saying I should just give up my holdings? That my people aren’t good enough?” Brent shook his head.

“Your soldiers don’t have the advantages my paladins have when fighting displacer beasts. Look outside. How many men have you both lost? I checked mine on my way here. Only one. And why? Because we are designed to fight evil monsters.” Laying a hand on Jarad’s shoulder Brent added quietly, “I give you my word I shall not leave until the maug dirlagraun slag is over. If you choose to stay you’ll only loose more men and equipment.”

 

“And what would you expect in return?” asked Titus. “An army isn’t cheap to run.” “I’d be lying if I didn’t readily admit that dirlagraun bodies are valuable to the right market. Any that my people kill the frost giants will recognise as ours by blood-right. I would expect the same from both of you.” The lord and king shared a look. Dropping his hand Brent said, “Debate as long as you feel the need. Me, I have a clowder of dirlagraun to hunt.”

 

 

 

 

 

At first contact was difficult and fraught with danger, as is often the case when dealing with beings much larger than yourself. Still with the evacuation of the refugees and the retreat of the two unnecessary armies things had gone along more smoothly. Brent had ordered the clerics to return home vie Aberteen with several of the younger paladin units. Their orders were to render assistance by laying down sanctuary and protection from evil spells as well as providing the practical help of rebuilding the town. Lastly they were to procure ten wagons and deliver them back to their commander.

 

Those that remained behind numbered eighty and were broken into four divisions, which were led by Aesthyr, Jason, Damien and Brent. Working in tandem with the frost giants, the paladins were able to use their god-gifted abilities to give warnings and take out the younger displacer beasts freeing up the focus of the frost giant hunters to take on the larger dirlagraun. Over all, the three week long hunt was highly successful.

 

On the final night the Jarl invited the humans to join their feast, a rare honour for those outside a giant’s clan. Brent required everyone’s attendance and was pleased to see the interactions between the two races, regardless of the language barrier, to be of a positive nature. Over the meal the Jarl shared stories of successful past hunts. Through these Brent learnt that a series of recent avalanches had filled up the valleys where the dirlagraun traditionally roamed while on the material plane. As such they had moved further south in search of grounds more suitable for their needs. A contingent of youths had spotted traces of their presence by the border and had reported it to the Jarl, who was only too happy to travel south to hunt.

 

With the celebrations concluded, there was nothing left to do but sleep off the thunderous hangovers and late night. After a day’s rest the paladins loaded up the carts with the displacer bodies, each of which had been bespelled by the Jarl’s spiritspeaker with gentle repose, and began the long journey home.

 

 

 

The tall grey walls of Stance Keep stood proudly above the land. Looking ahead Brent could see the start of his army reach the large stone archway that led to the inner courtyard. Riding with his friends at the back he smiled at being home once more. “How will this tale by remembered?” questioned Aesthyr with a grin. “Getting one of your bards to immortalise it in song?”

“I think interpretive dance may be a better medium,” quipped Patrick. Brent rolled his eyes and ignored them. “You still have that ledger?” he asked Jason. Jason patted his saddlebag. “Won’t loose it a second time, promise Chosen.” Brent snorted.

“You’re lucky our people are honest. Hopefully we’ll sell the bodies soon.” Jason grinned. “A payday sounds great to me. Maybe I’ll take a holiday.”

“I hear north is lovely this time of year,” added Damien dryly. Brent snorted while Jason frowned. “Um, no. I think I’ve seen enough northern grasslands and hills for awhile at least.”

 

“Any plans for tonight?” asked Aesthyr.

“A good feed or hot food,” answered Damien.

“A real bed,” added Jason.

“A shower,” replied Patrick. His smile turned cheeky as he added, “and a table.” Damien pulled a face as Jason laughed and high fived his friend. Brent watched the road ahead, trying hard not to blush. “What about you, Aesthyr?” Aesthyr shrugged.

“I have no one in particular waiting for me, Chosen.” Brent cocked his head to the side. “Well then, why don’t you all come share a drink and meal with me? Bring Aly too, Jason, and we’ll have a right old party in my chambers.”

“You supplying the wine?” Jason teased lightly. Brent chuckled.

“I’ll make sure I have enough to get you well and truly sloshed. So what do you say?” Damien grinned. “Drinks with the Chosen sounds pretty good to me. I’m in.” Seeing his friends smile and nod he beamed back at them.

 

Reaching the courtyard they dismounted. One by one the paladins dismissed their faithful astral horses while the stable hands led away the remaining equines. Climbing the stairs Brent turned to the crowds and lifted his hands for silence. “My friends!” he cried. “We have been victorious this day. The justice of Heironeous has been delivered and with His mercy we have solidified the peace with our neighbours to the north.” He waited for the cheering to die down.

 

Turning slightly the Chosen looked to Damien and gestured for him to step forward. “It is my pleasure to announce that Damien Johnson, for his courage and tenacity both on and away from the field of battle, has been promoted and shall henceforth be known by his new title of Gallant.”

 

Damien’s shocked expression soon gave way to one of elated joy. Ignoring those that clapped him on the back he shook hands with Brent. “This is unexpected,” he uttered astounded. Brent chuckled, “You deserve no less as my third in command.”

“What?” spluttered Damien. Jason laughed and hooked an arm around his shoulders while Brent nodded that he had heard correctly. “That’s right,” grinned Jason. “New title, new responsibilities. Even less time to get laid.” Brent lifted a finger in warning, but took the sting out of the rebuke with a gentle smile. “Stop teasing, Jason. Damien has worked hard and his vows are to be respected.” 

 

Turning back to his people Brent added, “Gallant Damien is but one of many who have risen in rank. Those that are to be honoured shall be informed in the coming days in a ceremony that we shall hold in their honour.” He waited for the applause to die down before adding, “There is one final announcement that I have to make.”

 

Motioning for Patrick to come forward Brent took his hand and smiled lovingly at his partner. “You all know Patrick Owins. He has lived among us now for over a year. What you may not know is that he has recently agreed to marry me.” The crowd responded more zealously than Brent had expected. “Any excuse for a holiday and a free feed,” he chuckled quietly to his friends before lifting his voice once more. “While we know everyone will respect our desire for a private ceremony, you are all invite to the party afterwards.”

 

His piece said, Brent laughed and pulled Patrick into his arms. Blue eyes sparkled with delight at the giddy smile on Patrick’s face. “You are mine,” he whispered lowering his face and capturing Patrick’s lips under his own. “Always,” came the whispered reply. Green eyes met his with love.

 

Breaking apart he grinned broadly and kept a tight hold on Patrick’s hand. Glancing at his friends he signalled to the stairs. “Come,” he said happily. “Tonight the drinks are on me.”

 


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