Written by Tyler Dubey
It was raining that night. The droplets falling like hammers against the canvas tarp of the pavilion. Lightning occasionally spider-webbed across the sky giving brief glimpses into the darkness that filled the camp, except for the pavilion standing in its center. Inside sat three men in chairs staring down at three bound individuals. Stanrick Longfang sat on the right, Clypeum Legis on the left, and Volrok Hinrich sat in the center.
Volrok glared out from underneath his decorative hat at the three ulven who were kneeling before him and his council. Each of them were lore-speakers. Each of them now had a story as to how they were captured and each of those stories unique to them and a member of the council in the pavilion. Volrok thought back over the past month, about the events that occurred to them.
Volrok turned his gaze to the lore-speaker on the right, which was kneeling before Stanrick, whom was glaring coldly down at her. The fog of memory lifted and Volrok found himself back at the beginning of the hunt, on that warm early fall day. The sun was warm, the leaves were just changed of their color, and the wind was cool; a fine day for a hunt. They started off down towards the Great-Wolf Hackles, a bit of a trek, but each day showed promise. The Longfang hunters seemed to have picked up a trail, one that had been in use recently. Stanrick sent them on ahead to scout and discover who was frequenting this land.
A day later the hunters returned, and they had interesting news. Apparently they found a hastily built shack on the side of a granite outcropping with a warm fire inside and a fair amount of books and scrolls. He didn’t hesitate. Volrok had the group move with haste to this shack. His gut pulled him to this direction more than anything, a mere hunch, a mere guess.
Once they arrived, Volrok placed the volunteers in places of advantage to observe, to follow, and to capture. Volrok had Stanrick lead the forces on the ground while Clypeum and himself waited on top of the outcropping. So the group waited, and waited, and waited. It was deep in the twilight when an event occurred, the rustle of leaves, the sound of the litter of the woodland floor being walked upon, and the glimpse of a dim lantern. The group’s uneasiness about the wait vanished instantly, for what walked towards the shack, walked carefully. The hunters later told Volrok that this woman walked with caution, as if she was afraid of something. Slowly, but surely, the ulven woman moved towards the shack. The hunters started to move, as quiet as the night’s shadow that descended upon the wood. Then the woman stopped and looked around her. She felt that she was being watched.
“I did not know I was to have guests to my humble little shack… Not to mention so many of them.” she said aloud. Volrok was taken aback for a moment, his first thought was that she bluffed, trying to throw off possible hunters.
“Oh come on out already. I’m old, tired, and am sick of hiding like this. I know you’re there. I can smell the sweat and oil from your armors.” she said aloud once more. This time Stanrick stood up from behind the brush he was hiding in.
“Since you said you were hiding, I take it you are a lore-speaker then?” he inquired. She sighed at the obvious question and set her captured game down on the ground beside her.
“Yes, Stanrick Longfang, I am what you think I am… But allow this ulven one last dinner as a free ulven before she is taken away to answer for what we have taught.” she barked with bitter words. Even Volrok was taken aback by her words and allowed her to at least eat her meal. The rest of the group slowly came out of the shadows and surrounded her shack as she prepared, ate, and slept for the night.
When morning came, the old ulven had her books and scrolls packed into a bag, her personal belongings as well, and came out with her hands ready to be bound.
“I am too old for this game of hide-and-seek. I hope you are as kind as you were last night when it comes to the treatment of your captives.” she said once more with bitter words. Stanrick came forward and assured her that Volrok and the rest would follow ulven tradition when it came to captives and treat her fairly.
Volrok came back to the present, his eyes still looking upon the older ulven woman. While she was indeed bitter about her capture, she cooperated and did not cause problems, other than the frequent bathroom breaks along their travels. To also be of note, the books she brought were also in runes, making it rather difficult to decipher them. However, all of that didn’t matter. He was glad that they got that one without much trouble. It was the next one that bothered him more. This individual was an older ulven man with a long bushy beard, balding head, and a blind eye. This lore-speaker sat before Clypeum, and this story was rather entertaining.
It had been two weeks since the volunteers left Onsallas in search of lore-speakers, and their travels brought them to the lands of the Goldenfield Clan. It must have been a spectacle to see a force of ulven and humans march this far away from the frontlines. There was even a point when a small group of warriors grabbed their farming tools and confronted them on the reason they were there. Thankfully, Stanrick was able to help keep things calm before it got out of hand and they were able to camp near a river that night that ran next to the town. Volrok had been more than thankful for Stanrick’s presence and asked the hunters to look around to find any evidence of lore-speakers nearby. That had been their routine for a while now, and it had worked quite well. It in fact had brought them to this village. The group had their orders and prepared for the day to come, but the events that were to transpire that morning would surely be unexpected.
From here on out is where Volrok’s memory had to turn to imagination. For these events were related to him by Clypeum. Apparently he woke up early, along with the hunters, in order to pray before too much commotion occurred. He walked up the river quite a ways and lost himself in the scenery of Goldenfield farmers that worked hard to harvest the grain. Finally, Clypeum came to a serene place where a creek became part of the small river. He sat down and began to meditate and pray to his deity. When he was done and was about to walk away, he noticed an item that was out of place. Just across the stream there was a small campsite, smoke still coming from the embers of a fire. Quickly he waded toward the place, through the cold water. Fish bones, a small basket filled with lures, and a rod with fishing line attached, littered the campsite.
“Well… This is odd… “Clypeum mumbled to himself. Who would leave such fine equipment laying around? It bothered him, apparently, as it eventually led to him to explore the surrounding area alone. That made Volrok reem Clypeum a new arse for such a foolish decision, but his thoughts returned back to recounting the report he was given. After some time, Clypeum did eventually find an old abandoned barn near the edge of the river. From what he could tell, someone came through here quite recently. In fact, probably within the past few hours. Cautiously he moved, his warhammer in hand just in case.
As Clypeum entered the barn, a putrid stench filled his nose. Fecal matter, urine, bones, and mold littered the place. He thought that maybe a wild animal lived there. That was, till he heard singing…
“~Dil dim didily dom! Eat the fish with the palms! Cook the bones and scatter them far! See the future, count the stars!~” said a rather chipper old voice. Clypeum froze dead in his tracks, he dared not move if only to make a sound.
“~Do dob dibby dak! I see the future, there is a pact! Foes hurt, feelings more! There just might be another war~!” went the cheery old man’s voice. Clypeum had enough time to focus now. The song wasn’t coming from within the derelict barn, but rather, under it.
‘Wait… Why is it coming from beneath the barn? How is that-‘ Clypeum pondered wildly and in a panic. He slowly and carefully walked across the refuse filled floor, avoiding anything that could make a sound. He was successful, apparently, for he found himself near the edge of a pit.
“~Thim tan wibbly damn! Running, running, avoid the brand! Stories told once I did! Never thought that I-” the old dirty ulven man stopped mid song. Clypeum could hear why. The boards were creaking beneath his weight. The old man’s head slowly turned to reveal an opaque eye that glared at him.
“~Wim pel bibbly bell… Look whom came to join hell… You are human, do not trust… Great Wolf eat you, yes he must…” said the old man in a slow and yet rhythmic way. The words gave Clypeum chills, but he quickly resolved his nerves.
“Who are you? Why do you live here?” Clypeum asked, curious as to why an old ulven man like this would be here.
“~Voop Vam giggly slam! I am Speaker Glam! Stories I told, this is true! But my question be, who are you?~” rhymed the old one, who called himself Glam. Volrok imagined Clypeum’s jaw to have dropped at some point due to the constant rhyming, but he continued to imagine what happened.
“I am Clypeum Legis. I am from the Rangers. If you are a Lore-speaker then I would ask you to come with -” he had begun to say when he was suddenly interrupted. For while he spoke, the old man danced around, the mana flowed out from the old man’s decrepit fingers and whirled into a single ball of light blue energy that hovered in his hand. From there the ball of energy crashed into Glam’s target and Clypeum was then on his knees in the mud and grime, binding his very physical being to be still as Glam ran to a small bundle and grabbed a bow, nocked it, and aimed it at Clypeum.
Once the spell released its hold over Clypeum, he put his hands up and yelled, “I DON’T WANT TO FIGHT!” But apparently Glam didn’t want to risk it. That or he was insane. The arrow was loosed and sunk into Clypeum’s thigh. As soon as it did, Glam grabbed his gear and began to hobble away at amazing speed. Clypeum, however, was still pretty fast at a hobble himself. He stood up and gave chase, catching up to the old man. However he had an idea. To herd old Glam to the camp. So he slowly began to change his course from time to time to try and steer him, and it worked. When he eventually did catch up with Glam, he received a nasty surprise.
Glam turned around on a dime, his feet kept firmly on the ground, let loose a burst of pure energy which flew like ballista bolt and sent Clypeum flying backwards onto his back at the river’s edge. Just as soon as Glam turned around to finish manipulating the mana and keep running, he ran face first into a chest plate. Volrok’s chest plate as matter of fact. He quickly tackled Glam to the ground and pinned him down using weight alone. Volrok tried his hardest not to vomit after inhaling the smell, and luckily didn’t. Soon two hunters appeared from the tall grass nearby, helped restrain Glam and brought him. Not to the camp, but straight to the river to be washed and cleaned.
Volrok shivered and steeled his gut from the remembrance of the stench. He gave thanks to The Battle-Father right then for helping him overcome that dreadful ordeal. After that thought came to pass, his attention turned to the last of the three ulven kneeled before them. This one was quite young and seemed to be named Yort. The young one, whom Stanrick constantly called a pup, was probably the most troublesome of the three lore-speakers to capture.
The reason that Yort was so difficult of a capture was not his skill, but his location. After trying to talk with Glam for a while, the wily old ulven slipped some information. Information about a lore-speaker that headed north with an apprentice. North to an old abandoned village in The Great Forest. Volrok turned to Stanrick puzzled, but was met with a look of surprise and disgust. It was later revealed to him that the Great Forest is home to many Mordok, as well as many old abandoned settlements. Volrok didn’t care. He wanted that lore-speaker, more than ever now. For if one was pressed to enter into dangerous territory, then the prize must be worth the risk.
Volrok had immediately begun to organize the group and moved them north towards the Great Forest, despite Stanrick’s warnings. Volrok probably should have listened, for when they arrived, the hunters reported a decent amount of Mordok activity in the area. Volrok had only then begun to realize how clever this lore-speaker they chased was, which made him even more driven. He took only the best hunters and Stanrick with him from there on out and headed into the forest to give chase to this elusive ulven and his apprentice.
They were a day into the forest when they came across an old abandoned village. The supports burned to charcoal, skeletons littered the ruins of former houses. Mangled and distorted skeletons lashed to trees with vines and some sort of twine. It disturbed them to see to say the least. The hunters and Stanrick seemed disgusted at the site of such a vile scene. However, there was something there that didn’t belong. A fire pit that had been used recently. Smoke still rose from the red embers, which could only mean this had been used very recently. The few hunters that were there scattered and searched frantically, and cautiously, for a trail. It didn’t take long to find one and it puzzled them for a bit. For the disturbed leaves showed that one had a shorter and normal stride, while next to it had another one. One that followed the pattern of someone that limped along using a staff. They didn’t waste time pondering on that issue for too long, for they immediately took off on the trail like wolves on the hunt.
They ran, sprinted, and even bolted through that forest as quietly as they could. Thankfully Volrok was in minimal armor and wasn’t as weighed down as he normally was, or they would have moved much slower, and much, much more audible. They continued to run. Their legs burned with pain and begged them to stop. They ran till they finally found them, the two they had tailed all that time, the lore-speaker and his apprentice.
“Well it seems they finally caught up. I was seriously wondering when these pups would catch up to us.” murmured the older ulven while he leaned on his cane.
“Who are they Master Lygari?” asked the young ulven male near him carrying a large pack.
“They seem to be of pack Longfang, Yort. Notice their markings on the cheek bones.” commented Lygari, he taught his apprentice despite the situation.
“Wait… Lore-speaker Lygari? I haven’t seen you in quite a few seasons…” commented Stanrick.
“Well… Being a Lore-speaker and traveling to record and speak of stories of old makes one quite busy. Especially if it is during a civil war.” Lygari said with a slight sneer at their presence. He had already guessed at their intended reason for why the group followed and tracked his apprentice and himself this far into the Great Forest. There was a moment of silence after that, the tension was high; the hunters started to reach for their weapons.
“Lore-speaker Lygari, I would ask you kindly, turn yourself in for questioning about the documents discovered and the lies the Lore-speakers have spread. I would rather we not have to fight. If you do, I personally promise that you are treated well and looked after during our venture back to Onsallas.” Volrok said to help break the silence and just get this hunting trip over with. Lygari reacted quite surprised at what was said, shocked even, that a human could act this way.
“Do you even… No… That is fine if you do not know me…” he mumbled to himself as he thought aloud.
“Very well. My apprentice and myself will accompany you to Onsallas for questioning. Though I cannot guarantee that I know anything about these documents everyone claims to be so important.” Lygari stated as he hobbled towards the group, and motioned Yort to follow suite.
They traveled back to the abandoned village without incident. Apparently the Mordok had not been as active as they thought in this area of the Great Forest. The group marched onward, past the village and into the night. Straight back to the main camp, which was about eight hours away as the crow flew. Confident that they would get out of the forest unscathed.
How naïve they were, thought Volrok as he recalled those events, to the terror that they had gone through that night. They were about an hour away from the camp when it happened. A howl. Not that of a wolf or coyote, but that of a Mordok. The entire group froze and realized the error of their decision to continue forward. Stanrick’s face was whiter than the moon that was peering through the canopy. Volrok’s forehead soaked with sweat and his palms quivered with uncertainty. It was then they heard a voice.
“Run… Or they will get us…” Volrok turned his head to the voice and saw that Lygari had now moved as quickly as he could without out a torch through the wood. That brought Volrok back to reality and steeled him.
“Put out the torches, use the moonlight to see. It’s bright enough for us get back.” he whispered to the hunters who, without need to be convinced, did just that. That’s when another howl came and it was closer than before. The group took off like a stag being chased by hounds. They leapt and bounded over logs, sprinted across the forest floor, and flew through the air as they made haste to get to the camp. However, the howls were now yells and yelps, followed with a course of other voices. A hunter grabbed Yort, threw him over his shoulder, and sprinted onward. Volrok did the same with the frail Lygari on his, chugging on at a steady pace that kept him at a safe distance from the Mordok that were giving chase.
For a long time the Mordok were on their heels. They howled like mad and made a large racket as they chased them through the darkness of the Great Forest. The group ran as hard as they could, through thorn and briar, through mud and cold; they didn’t dare stop. Their legs ached and cried in agony as they pumped them up and down. Then finally, finally, the sweet sight of light beyond the tree line. Moral began to raise, the aches didn’t bother them as much and the Mordok seemed to have lost interest in their prey. They got to the tree line and the rest of the group made their way back to the camp while Volrok, with Lygari in-tow, took a second to breathe. That was all he needed apparently, for in that second that Volrok placed him down onto the ground, Lygari’s hands began to move awkwardly. In a flash his bonds were severed, for while he was being hauled like luggage, Lygari was busy at work using the unexpected. For that cane which he was carrying held a hidden blade. Lygari put the blade against Volrok’s throat and glared at him.
“You WILL release my apprentice and mysel-” he demanded, before Volrok’s gauntlet found its way into his nose. Thought to be stunned, Volrok rushed in low for a tackle to bring the resistant Lygari to heel. Lygari had different plans it seemed, for as soon as Volrok was about a step away from going into the grapple with him, he aimed his hands out in front of him. Summoning some of the mana he collected that day, Lygari sent out a wave of pure energy that not only halted Volrok, but sent him reeling away and onto the ground.
“Wait… You… Can use magic?” Volrok said, shocked at what just occurred.
“I can do more than just heave you around like a sack of potatoes. Now, I want you to release my apprentice and myself… We have no quarrel with you nor do we want to fight more than needed… But I will save both him and myself if need be.” Lygari went on, obviously tired from the journey but determined to not be a captive of these bounty hunters. He looked over in the distance and could see the rest of the group escorting Yort farther and farther away from him.
“Sorry… A contract is an oath I swear to fulfill by my choice, along with the rest of the group who came with.” Volrok said as he slowly rose from the ground, seemingly to have regained his bearings for that moment.
“Now… Am I going to hav-” Volrok went on to say, but as he began to draw his blade, Lygari’s hands went into motion, giving form to the mana that was stored within him. It whirled around in his hands and took the form of a white and blue orb that created a small amount of fog around itself. In an instant, as Volrok went on to charge the Lore Speaker, he found the world around him colder than he ever remembered it. His body, his senses, his whole world, seemed to have stopped as he became covered in a thick layer of icy frost. Lygari saw his opportunity and slid into some bushes nearby, hiding away for the right moment.
Volrok came back to the world cold, angry, and quite confused. Why have so many Ulven males have access to arcane powers? That thought confused and even unnerved him. That what was supposed to be a rarity within the race was proving to be less and less true. He looked around once the last of the frost left his body in attempt to find Lygari. That is when he felt it. The cold touch of steel against his neck. His eyes slowly rotated to the side and found that Lygari’s hidden blade was placed against his throat.
“Speak or move and I will end your life, human.” Lygari threatened, slowly moving Volrok towards the camp. Volrok complied, but knew he had to wait for his chance to escape. Once they were at the edge of the tent line, the rest of the hunters and members that were traveling with him were armed and ready.
“What are you doing Lygari…” growled Stanrick, who looked upon the situation with great disgust.
“Now… While today has been quite entertaining… I think me and Yort will retire for the day. So would if you be so kind as to hand over my apprentice?” Lygari went on calmly, as if nothing was wrong with the situation. His eyes were constantly moving, making sure no one made any sudden movements. Stanrick growled in contempt and motioned for one of the hunters to bring Yort to the front of them and to exchange the two. As Yort walked over, Lygari began to move backwards, away from the group and kept Volrok held tight against the blade.
“Release Volrok now Lygari!” Stanrick yelled as the group of three retreated into the night. Lygari only smiled and continued to bring both his apprentice and Volrok beyond the fires of the camp, and left their sight shortly after. Clypeum and Stanrick, along with others from the camp, quickly chased after, but found only the night and far distant Mordok howls.
The three of them quickly headed back towards the woods, Volrok now bound by rope thanks to the help of Yort. While they ran, he snuck out a knife from his boot and began to cut the rope carefully as they ran, in attempt to hide the motions. Eventually they stopped and the feeble Lygari had to finally rest up against the cane he used. Volrok took the opportunity to do what he could. While Lygari was busy and tried to catch his breath, Yort had the remainder of the rope wrapped around his neck and mouth and was gagged in an instant. Volrok then went on to quietly place his gauntlet deep into the boy’s stomach, taking both the wind and the will to fight out of Yort.
Lygari finally came back to his senses from all the running and turned around only to see Volrok tackling him to the ground like a massive bull. The two of them struggled, both tried to gain some sort of advantage over the other.
“No spells for you Lore Speaker.” grunted Volrok as the two of them rolled in the grass. At that moment Lygari heard it, the sounds of pursuit, coming from the direction they ran from. He looked around, thought for a moment while he tried his hardest to stop this unusually strong human from crushing him. He then placed a knee into Volrok’s gut and threw him over using the momentum. The both of them stood up and Volrok charged once more to hold Lygari down, now that he heard the sounds of reinforcements. However, Lygari had planned something else entirely. For as Volrok charged his foe, Lygari summoned some of the last mana he had collected for that day from his core, wove it and released another wave of pure energy straight into Volrok’s chest. Volrok flew backwards at the sheer force and landed hard against a tree. He suddenly felt a large amount of searing agony in his lower back, then his head collided with the tree behind him. Hard. He fell to the ground, the power to move quickly left his body and mind.
“Another day human, another day…” Lygari said as he disappeared from Volrok’s sight and into the darkness. Volrok tried to speak, but only groans came forth. He slowly moved his right arm to touch his back and felt searing pain and agony. He bit down on his lip and pressed further towards where he thought the wound on his back was and was surprised at what he found. It wasn’t what was in his back as much as what was absent from it. His fingers only briefly brushed the edge of the gaping hole above his hip and he nearly blacked out. Apparently the tree he was slammed into had a broken branch strong enough to tear through his chainmail and puncture him deep. He groaned, took shallow breaths to avoid the pain in his back, and slowly used his arms to drag his body the three-hundred some feet to the campsite. Volrok got only about ten feet before everything around him faded to black.
He woke up the next day, his wound cleaned and dressed, his head wrapped, and his armor off and on a nearby stand. Volrok took a glance around the room, even though his head was pounding like a mallet on a war drum. Next to him was Clypeum who was rinsing out some rags and soaking them in cold water.
“How long have I been out?” Volrok barely managed to moan out.
“About a day and a half. We packed up as soon as we saw how bad you were and began to travel back to Onsallas.” Clypeum stated as he placed a nice cool compress on Volrok’s head.
“Apparently you got a concussion and a pretty messy wound near your right kidney… Yawn says you should be okay for now, but the Daughters of Gaia back at Onsallas should take another look at you to be safe.” he went on to say. From what Volrok heard, it sounded like he took a rather unfortunate beating.
That was four days ago. Now the group was about two days out of Onsallas. Thankfully Volrok was able to muster enough strength to sit upright for this moment. He didn’t want a moment to be lost, despite the pain in his back and head.
“So… Why? Why did you run when you knew you were being sought after?” Volrok asked the three of them.
“Who wouldn’t run when they are being hunted for something like that? We are being called liars and are being herded in like cattle to answer for crimes some of us did not know we even committed!” said the ulven woman. She was quite obviously displeased with such a hearing, but Volrok wanted, no, needed to know their motives.
“Then why the secrecy about what transpired all those years ago? What is the motive for that?” he went on asking the more important question at hand. The very fact that everyone in their culture was deceived for unknown reasons.
“Hin hel bimmidy bell! One answer we cannot tell! Unknown to us, this lore you speak. Someone higher up maybe, but not us weak.” piped up Glam. That statement alone seemed to make sense. It wouldn’t make sense for lore-speakers everywhere to know the true reason of hiding the truth and that only a select few should be privileged to such information.
‘But why though? Why even tell anybody at all then? Is it possible that the last person to have known of the truth left these clues behind in hopes that someone would figure it out, or perhaps it was left due to a guilty conscious? What in the heavens and hells was the reason?!’ Volrok thought wildly as he sat there in his chair. While going through all the information, he remembered something rather important.
“Fine, then at least answer me this… Are all lore-speakers able to cast arcane magic?” Volrok finally asked a rather important question, one that has been on everyone’s mind. Silence filled the pavilion, one that allowed them to even hear the deafening crackle from the torches and fire. The three of them averted their gaze, trying not to look at anybody.
“Hey,” Volrok began to ask one more time, his voice now much more menacing than before, “I asked you a question… Can all lore-speakers cast arcane magic?” Fear began to manifest itself in the pavilion. Volrok’s anger was starting to reach a boiling point and everyone could feel it. He looked first at the old woman, then to Glam, then finally at Yort. Volrok’s eyes glared daggers and even made some of the nearby hunters take a step back from where they were.
“Yort… Answer me… Consider this a chance to redeem yourself for the actions of your so called master Lygari.” Volrok now said coldly, every syllable a threat in its own right.
“Volrok… You are-” Stanrick began to remind him, reading the atmosphere in the pavilion. He was however suddenly interrupted by Yort.
“I… Do not know. But from what Master Lygari told me there are quite a number of us that do! They sometimes seek out those that can cast arcane magic, and those whom have the potential, and train them to be lore-speakers!” cried out Yort, his voice filled with terror and desperation. Everyone’s faces went into shock: the hunters, the other lore-speakers, Stanrick, Clypeum, and Volrok. Their expressions didn’t dissipate for some time.
Finally Stanrick spoke up. “If this is true… Then…” he began to mumble to himself, then went into deep thought.
“That means there is more going on than what we previously thought…” Volrok began to add onto the brainstorm aloud.
“Bring them to Onsallas! I have heard all I desire to hear from the lore-speakers.” Volrok told the hunters. They began to escort them out, one by one, and when Yort was about to leave the pavilion,
“Yort… You did a very hard, but very honorable action today. Be proud you spoke the truth…” Volrok said aloud. His voice carrying on not like before, filled with intimidation, but that of comfort. The reason for this was unknown to Volrok. Perhaps he felt the need to comfort the kid, or some other unknown reason. He would have to think on it after he was more healed up.
They were back in Onsallas’s Tavern now and everyone was celebrating the success of the hunt. Volrok sat in the usual corner with his comrades drinking quietly. Tonight he was joined by Stanrick and Clypeum, whom were nursing drinks as well.
“So, Did Reyna heal your back?” Stanrick asked him, trying to think of something to say after the long trip.
“Yes… She did… My head is still a little foggy but my back is much better now that it has had time to properly heal and be treated.” Volrok replied dryly, finding that this is just small talk and that no one really had a reason for speaking. Silence fell upon their corner once again, until Sarmion came running in holding a scroll.
“Volrok! We got a job offer!” Sarmion blurted out as he ran to the table almost throwing the scroll into Volrok’s face. He took the scroll and went over the contents, studying it very carefully. His eyes taking in every possible meaning and phrasing of the document before him.
Clypeum was in his own world, minding his mead when he finally spoke, “So what happens now? We know that these lower “ranked” lore-speakers apparently know little of the documents and that there is a good number of lore-speakers that can cast arcane magic…” he went on in a sort of overwhelmed state of mind.
“We don’t do anything. At least right now.” Volrok said as he threw down the document with a large grin on his face.
“Excuse me gentlemen… But I have a company to build and a war to win…” he went on to say as he finished his mead and walked off.
Both Stanrick and Clypeum looked confusingly at one another as to the context of what Volrok was truly getting at. They both grabbed the scroll and opened it. Only one part caught their attention.
“…In return for service, The Phoenix of Fire Isle will rebuild the Broken Blade Company and have it made into a functioning unit. As soon as you are ready, Volrok, we will send them up to the Pass to secure our supply lines. May your banners fly high!”