Rise of the Horde

The King of Lazica surveyed the assembled troops. The chill air of the eight month, bit at his exposed cheeks, a stark contrast to the warmth of the furs lining his heavy cloak.

Before him stood a contingent of soldiers, carefully chosen for their loyalty to him and their combat prowess, their armor gleaming dully under the overcast sky.

They were the finest warriors under his command. Their faces, though grim, held a quiet confidence born from years of rigorous training and countless victories.

Today, however, the weight of responsibility pressed heavily upon the King. The mission before them was delicate, potentially fraught with peril.

Desa, a border city, was at the range of Ereian attacks if they want to. The city was just hours away from the Tortuga Fortress which was occupied by a more than twenty thousand Ereian army.

The city was but just their first stop for the planned negotiations with the Ereians, a formidable and unpredictable foe.

Failure could mean the continuation of the war. Despite the kingdom's strength, it was a war that they couldn't afford at the moment, since they would be facing threats in all sides.

The king adjusted the grip on his sword hilt, a gesture that went unnoticed by his guards, but one that spoke volumes about the turmoil within.

His gaze swept across the assembled men, each a testament to his kingdom's military might. Yet, even this impressive display of power couldn't fully mask the anxieties that plagued him.

"The messengers have been dispatched," he announced, his voice carrying clearly over the hushed expectancy of the troops.

His words, though strong, lacked their usual booming confidence. "The eastern mercenaries will be directed to the barbarian incursions to the north of the kingdom. Their swift action is paramount to maintaining stability."

One of his captains, a seasoned veteran named Vazgen, stepped forward. "Your Majesty," he began, his voice respectful but laced with concern, "the barbarian threat is significant. Deploying only the mercenaries might prove insufficient."

The king nodded, acknowledging the validity of the concern. "Vazgen, I share your apprehension. However, our elite army, presently stationed in the former capital of Alberna, needs to be pulled back. The mercenaries will surely be able to handle the barbarians, especially with the amount of gold coins that I have promised to reward them, should they successfully deal with the barbarians."

The presence of our elite army is needed at Desa to serve as a critical buffer, should negotiations with the Ereians falter. They are to remain on high alert, prepared to respond swiftly to any unforeseen escalation."

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"And the remaining armies, Your Majesty?" another captain inquired.

"The two remaining standing armies will maintain their current positions, focusing on internal security. Their primary concern is to prevent any disturbances within our borders, particularly from the East. We cannot afford a three-front war," the king stated firmly.

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken worries. The weight of the kingdom rested on the king's shoulders, a burden amplified by the precariousness of the situation. The fate of Lazica hung in the balance, a gamble he was forced to make.

"We ride for Desa at dawn," Mirdat declared, breaking the silence. "May the Gods grant us wisdom and strength in our endeavors."

The march to Desa was long and arduous. The landscape, initially lush and green, gradually gave way to a harsher, more desolate terrain as they neared the border. The mood amongst the troops shifted from a quiet confidence to a tense anticipation. They knew the risks. They knew the stakes.

As the sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and crimson, they finally reached Desa. The town, usually bustling with activity, was eerily quiet, a palpable tension hanging in the air.

The young king dismounted, his gaze sweeping across the fortifications, assessing the defensive capabilities. It was a meager defense, far from adequate against a serious attack.

The Tortuga Fortress, a formidable Ereian stronghold, loomed large in their collective consciousness, a symbol of the conflict that threatened to engulf their land.

Without delay, the king summoned a messenger, a seasoned rider named Vhakis, known for his speed and unwavering loyalty.

"Vhakis," the king commanded, his voice low but firm, "you will carry a message to the Ereian commanders at Tortuga Fortress. Tell them that the ruler of Lazica, propose a negotiation to end this bloodshed. To demonstrate my sincerity, I will travel to the heart of Ereia myself, requesting safe passage for myself and a limited escort." The king's resolve, though evident, was tempered by a profound sense of risk.

Vhakis, a man accustomed to delivering vital information under perilous circumstances, accepted the task without hesitation.

He received the sealed message, a weighty symbol of hope and potential disaster, and mounted his horse. The darkness of the night offered little comfort as he spurred his steed onward, the urgent rhythm of hooves against the earth a counterpoint to the anxieties churning within him.

The Tortuga Fortress, a colossal structure of stone and iron, seemed to rise from the very earth itself, a menacing silhouette against the night sky.

Vhakis delivered the king's message, the words echoing in the stark, echoing halls of the fortress. The Ereian commanders, hardened veterans of countless battles, were taken aback. The idea of the Lazican king venturing into Ereian territory, a land steeped in conflict, was unprecedented. Continue reading stories on empire

News of the king's offer spread like wildfire through the fortress. Commander Nassor, whose reputation for shrewd judgment was matched only by his military prowess, immediately called for a council.

Present were his trusted confidantes: Kontar, his second-in-command; Viscount Redore, a nobleman known for his strategic mind; Baron Kasto, known for his great efficiency in handling dangerous situations; Karim a paladin whose valor was often overshadowed by his fondness for strong drink; and Zaraki, the commander of the Darkariss army.

"What say you, Kontar?" Nassor began, his voice calm but authoritative. "The Lazican king offers negotiation, proposes a meeting within our territory. This is… unusual."

"Unusual, indeed," Kontar replied, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "His willingness to enter Ereian territory suggests a genuine desire for peace, or perhaps a foolhardy belief in his own safety."

Viscount Redore spoke next, his tone measured and analytical. "It's a risky proposition. However, the implications of refusing are significant. A protracted war benefits neither side. His offer is a strategic opening, possibly an opportunity to secure a favorable peace treaty."

Karim, nursing a flagon of wine, interrupted. "Let the drunkard speak his peace! It's a trap! The Lazican king brings only lies and treachery! We should crush him before he has the chance to sow discord and unrest among us!"

Zaraki, his expression impassive, countered Karim's drunken outburst. "Lord Karim, while your concern is understandable, your assessment is too simplistic. The King of Lazica's offer, while risky, presents a chance to gain insight into his plans and, if handled correctly, perhaps secure advantageous terms for a peace agreement. He has presented himself to be alone and we can easily defeat his small party if he is not to be trusted."

The council's deliberations continued late into the night. The Ereian commanders weighed the risks and potential gains. Nassor, after carefully considering the advice of his fellow commanders, particularly Zaraki's insightful counterpoint to Karim's emotional outburst, made a decision.

"We will grant him safe passage," Nassor announced, his voice carrying the weight of his decision. "But on one condition: his escort shall not exceed two thousand men. With such a small force, they pose little threat, even if they are the best of their armies. We will also increase border patrols to prevent any hidden Lazican forces from infiltrating our territory."

The agreement, born from careful consideration and a calculated risk, was reached. The messenger, Vhakis, was dispatched back to Desa, bearing the Ereian commanders' response.

The weight of the king's gamble, and the Ereian's calculated risk, now rested upon the fragile hope of a negotiated peace.

The shadows of the Tortuga Fortress seemed to hold their breath, waiting to see whether this bold attempt at diplomacy would succeed or end in a catastrophic failure. The coming days would decide the fate of both kingdoms.

The sun, a pale disc struggling through the morning mist, cast long shadows across the cobblestones of Desa. Vhakis, his face etched with the weariness of a long journey, dismounted before the King's resting place.

The sealed scroll, clutched tightly in his hand, contained the Ereian response regarding the Tortuga Fortress. He'd ridden hard, pushing himself and his mount to their limits, the urgency of his mission a constant pressure.

The king, already awaiting him in the courtyard, met Vhakis with a barely perceptible nod. The weight of his crown seemed heavier this morning, the lines etched around his eyes deepening with each passing moment.

"The reply, Vhakis?" his voice, though calm, held an underlying tremor of anxiety.

Vhakis presented the scroll. "Their terms, your Majesty."

He broke the seal, his eyes scanning the carefully worded missive. Silence descended, broken only by the rustling of the parchment. A long, drawn-out sigh escaped his lips, a sigh of relief mixed with a deep, underlying apprehension.