Prelude

Nestor cringed as he felt the sloshy mud slide against his half-naked body, clinging onto his skin like manure infused mucus. The guards pulled at his bound wrists, dragging him further along Taj’Khinjaha’s busy backstreets and onto the main road. The cobbled street did not ease his discomfort; on the contrary, the stone tiles bit into his skin all too eagerly, stripping away thin patches of skin with their rough and uneven caress. Nestor, swearing in his distinct Taurian dialect, turned his head, grunting as he locked eyes with Leto – his sister. They were completely unprepared when the Vizier’s guards raided the warehouse from which they had been operating from, dragging them out into the street without a single spoken word or rudimentary explanation. Leto had been busy with the drafting of a new trade contract when the raid happened, while Nestor was in the middle of bathing himself, having barely enough time to don a loose cloak when the soldiers broke down the door.

“Savages!” cried out Nestor, spittle shooting out from his lips as he began to foam from the magnitude of his frustration. “What is the meaning of this?! We have done nothing wrong!” The guards said nothing in response, dragging their two prisoners along with a steady, unbothered pace.

“Hush, brother!” snapped Leto, her fair cheek now marred by a bloody gash. The woman locked eyes with her brother, urging him to remain silent with the unspoken authority only an older sister could convey. They were now going through the main gate of Jahan’s palace, sending a jolt of dread down Nestor’s gullet and into the pits of his stomach. Minos help us, thought the man to himself, this is much worse than I thought…

The palace compound, though impressive regardless, was very much unfinished – as was the case with the rest of the city – with stretches of scaffolding and piles of construction materials being commonplace across the many buildings that made up the Vizier’s personal domain. The central palace was no different, with its main tower standing incomplete and its ornate walls being swarmed by countless craftsmen and builders – working tirelessly to make the Vizier’s grand vision of Taj’Khinjaha a reality. Once inside the main building, Nestor let out a sigh of relief, welcoming the sensation of smooth, cool marble rubbing against his naked body. Leto showed no such emotion, tentatively closing her eyes as she prepared for what was to come.

Once they had reached the main audience chamber, the guards came to an abrupt stop, letting go of their Taurian captives and stepping to the side with a click of their boots. The siblings stood up with some effort, rubbing their aching wrists; Nestor tried to cover his body with the cloak as best as he could, while Leto clenched her jaw as she stared at the menacing figures ahead of her. Jahan was seated upon an elevated throne at the room’s pinnacle, which was in turn surrounded by numerous smoke-spewing censers and a few roaring braziers. At his side stood his infamous servant and confidant, the Voice, holding against his silk-draped chest a large wooden slab that was adorned with a thick layer of unraveled scrolls and documents. At the throne’s base, near the stairs that led to the Vizier, was a man draped in a simple linen cloak, with only his head and one arm jutting out from within his veiled form. Cloaked as he was, Yindak was still a formidable figure to behold: the sheer mass of his concealed form conveyed absolute physical might, while his spear – held firmly with one arm – crackled with faint tendrils of electrical energy that made known his magical prowess. Besides those three, the room was filled with a large and eager audience, with many – both human and not – awaiting the conclusion of the spectacle that was about to unfold.

“Nestor and Leto of the Taurian trade expedition. You stand before his majesty Jahan, Shimmering Vizier and governor of the city of Taj’Khinjaha, while accused of dishonesty, thievery of funds, and fraud. What do you have to say regarding these accusations?” exclaimed the Voice, shuffling through his collection of documents as he spoke.

“Listen here you swollen sack of shi—” growled Nestor, only to be interrupted by Leto, who stepped on her brother’s foot with the force of a galloping horse.

“Forgive my brother’s rashness, most honorable Jahan. I’m afraid the recent heatwave has muddled his senses—”

“You will kneel when addressing the great Jahan!” snapped the Voice, glowering at the pair with evident disgust.

“Very well,” spoke Leto, signaling at Nestor to follow her lead as she got on her knees. “Mighty Jahan! There must have been a misunderstanding. My brother and I are honest traders. We would never think of wronging you or the good people of this city in any way…”

“You accepted a contract to deliver three shipments of copper to the merchant Nanntir, correct?” responded the Voice, holding up the contract as proof with one arm.

“Correct. The shipment should have arrived yesterday evening. I was about to visit Nanntir for details when the guards came into our—”

“Liar!” called out a man from the gathered audience, with Nanntir emerging while supporting his full weight onto his staff. “I received no shipment yesterday! Nor this morning! You took my money and were about to leave the city without delivering on your promise!” The old man slammed the end of his staff onto the floor as he continued with his tirade, his crooked form twisting with each spoken word. “I expected sub-par copper from the likes of Taurians, but never did I consider you to be so despicable that you would forego our contract entirely!”

Nestor and Leto stared at Nanntir and then at each other with wide-eyed disbelief, with the brother being the first to break the brief stretch of stunned silence. “This can’t be. We got word from the main caravan two days ago. They were moving in from the north and were accompanied by mercenaries from Ger—”

“Enough!” boomed the Vizier’s voice, with the sorcerous governor lifting a single finger to draw the room into absolute silence. With Jahan’s gesture, the brazier-bound flames around his throne roared and grew in intensity, sending a wave of stifling heat across the great audience chamber. Stroking a jewel-encrusted strand from his great beard, Jahan continued, leaning forward and nailing his crimson hued gaze onto the two prisoners before him. Each movement was followed by the faint rattling of metal, as the Vizier was adorned with countless jewels, rings, gilded chains, and other such valuable trinkets. “I detest excuses, especially those that are as poor as yours…” remarked Jahan, the flames around his throne pulsating with every word. “You failed to deliver on your contract – therefore you are guilty. The only question that remains is that of your punishment…” With a click of his fingers, the Vizier summoned two servants, carrying an ornate stand that held an equally detailed branding iron. The iron’s seal was in the shape of a roiling tuft of flame, glowing bright red with arcane heat and signifying the authority of the Court of Fire.

“Yindak,” called out Jahan, with the formidable warrior turning around to face his master. “Yes, vizier?” boomed the Skypiercer’s voice, the man’s unflinching gaze digging into that of his superior. “You have served me well in battle so far – as was expected from one with such a thunderous reputation,” mused Jahan. “I now wish to observe your diplomatic prowess. For I have heard that those trained by the Court of Air are of nimble blade and mind in equal measure. What would you have me do with these two miscreants from the City States? Especially when considering the recent peace I have managed to negotiate with the war-savvy Tauria… Do I let them go with but a simple fine for their crime? Or do I brand them as the thieves and frauds they are for the world to see?!”

Yindak turned to face Nestor and Leto, sensing the fear and confusion that bubbled within them. He had dealt with those burdened with guilt many times in his life, but the siblings were not as easy to decipher. Regardless of the truth behind the missing copper, Yindak had to make a choice, his veiled bulk shuffling as he turned around to address Jahan.

Which punishment will Yindak choose for Nestor and Leto?

Choice

• “Mark them with the branding iron. Let the world know of their crime!”
• “A hefty fine will suffice, great Jahan!”

Chapter 1

“Unforgivable!” roared Thisavros, slamming his fist against the stone surface of the large circular table that stood at the center of the great hall. Seated alongside him, surrounding the great slab, were a collection of individuals that made up Tauria’s oligarchical leadership – a gathering of influential and powerful personages, representing key sects within the city state and leading under the divine gaze of the bull-god Minos as a council.

“We must not be rash, trade master,” responded an elderly man draped in fine scarlet robes, raising his age-marred visage to face the gilded satyr. Thisavros, head of Tauria’s mercantile collective, was an imposing and unusual figure – even amongst other bred of his kind – decorating his well-muscled, goat-like physique with opulent curios and other such finery. His curved horns were strewn with ornate golden jewels and decorated with rings of polished brass, asserting the status and impressive wealth of the city state’s most influential trader.

The satyr snorted, causing the ring piercing his nostrils to sway from the force of the exhalation. “You speak of prudence, leader of the clergy… I wonder if you would show the same degree of calmness if it were your priests being harassed by that bastard instead!”

Lytanos, head of Minos’ combined clergy, did not seem to be angered by the accusation, offering a broad smile instead. “Come now, old friend. I did not mean to offend you – nor do I wish to excuse Jahan’s actions against Tauria’s traders in the Allerian Plains. In the end, it was a simple fine – a hefty one, sure – but a fine, nonetheless. No lives were lost, and that should not go unaccounted for…”

“Enough with your disarming friendliness!” hissed Thisavros. “We both know that the peace terms offered by the Sorcerer Kings were those of frauds and thieves!” The satyr rose from his marble-hewn throne, one of many that occupied Tauria’s main audience chamber within the heart of its acropolis – Kefala. As he spoke, Thisavros’ amber-hued eyes burned with pure rage, bathing each of the gathered leaders in his fury as he turned to face them. “The Vizier promised that trade would once more flow to Tauria from the Allerian Plains. He promised to build roads and bridges that would expediate travel to and from our lands. He promised that my caravans – Tauria’s caravans – would be allowed to pass freely through his settlement of Taj’Khinjaha, without taxes or other such financial burdens, so they can move our goods northwards unhindered!” The satyr paused, as if for dramatic effect, resuming after he shared a hard glance with each of the gathered council members. “Instead, almost all of the trade from the Hundred Kingdoms never leaves Taj’Khinjaha’s domain, for Jahan lures them in with gold and inflated payments – only to deny us of the trade our city needs, rather than to make a profit! Tauria agreed to peace, yet the Sorcerer Kings are attacking our coffers as we speak!”

“Aye!” agreed Sofron, head of Tauria’s agriculture and granaries. “Grain shipments from the north are critical to keeping Tauria’s food reserves healthy. Yet, few grain caravans reach our walls now, for they all flock to Taj’Khinjaha – drawn in by Jahan despite his promises to us. The last harvest season was a meager one; we can’t afford to lose any more of our trade deals, or the people might starve!”

“Ore ain’t gettin’ sold either…” grunted a gigantic figure in agreement, shuffling uncomfortably due to the limited space offered by his throne. “I got a month’s worth of iron ore backed up in my stores. I got no one that wants to haul it north – the tampering of the wizard folk is at fault, I reckon…” continued Aksionas, head of Tauria’s metallurgists and miners, with the soot-imbued minotaur settling back into his characteristic silence after he was done voicing his thoughts.

Lytanos rubbed the sides of his head with a sigh, raising his chin to face a cloaked figure at the opposite side of the great table. “I have yet to hear the voice of Minos’ favored warrior. What say you on this matter, Persenia?”

Persenia, known as the Gorgon amongst her peers, remained motionless and silent for a fleeting moment – stretching it to what seemed like an eternity through the sheer gravitas of her presence. From underneath her hood, several serpentine eyes peered through, with the slithering snakes that once were her hair jutting outwards as she finally spoke. “No wrong can go unpunished… They harassed our traders in their city, then we shall drive out their traders from ours. Tauria should not suffer the blight of the Sorcerer Kings within its walls…”

“Let’s put it to a vote, then! Do we drive out the Sorcerer Kings’ merchants from our city as recompense, or do we let them be and leave the Vizier’s wrongdoings go unpunished?!” called out Thisavros, only speaking after he was certain Persenia had finished talking. One by one, those present voted, with all votes being in favor of driving the Sorcerer Kings traders from Tauria.

Last to vote was Lytanos, who mused out loud before doing so. “Since my agreement to this motion is necessary for it to be blessed by Minos – and thus be valid – I have one request if I am to give my approval. I wish for my disciple – the one that is most likely to shepherd the totality of our blessed clergy after my passing into Minos’ embrace – to lead this initiative on the ground. Word is that an alchemist’s workshop has been set up at Tauria’s outskirts, where those of the Sorcerer Kings reside… I want the master of this facility and its contents apprehended in the name of our god-king. We must catalogue the enemy’s secrets if we are to deal with their sorcerous trickery in the future!” A multitude of voices mumbled in agreement, with no objections rising to the surface. As such, Lytanos was prompted to raise his hand, beckoning Thrasyvoulos – his favored protégé – to his side. Thrasyvoulos, a strapping man that still clung to his youth, headed towards Lytanos from the back of the great hall, bowing his head in respect as soon as he reached his master’s throne. “You heard my request, I trust Thrasyvoulos… Bring me the alchemist and his treasures. Record this ostracizing of the Sorcerer Kings from our lands and what is to follow. Weave a tale worthy of our order, so that the Rhapsodoi of the years to come may recount this day with pride and fervor – in the name of Minos!”

“Your wish is my command, master…” spoke Thrasyvoulos, storming off without another word. With the grace of Minos and those that lead in his name, Lytanos’ prized student gathered a sizable force of soldiers and headed for the camp of the Sorcerer Kings the very same day. Alerted of the arrival of Tauria’s troops, the alchemist hatched a plan to keep the sorcerous secrets of his people hidden from the Taurians, hastily formulating a magical concoction with a truly explosive potential. Bubbling within an arcane-forged cauldron, the potion in question was meant to cause a massive firestorm upon completion, hopefully obliterating the alchemist’s workshop and allowing him to escape in the chaos that ensued. As Thrasyvoulos and his military entourage descended on the trade encampment of the Sorcerer Kings, however, tearing down tents and stands and commencing with the act of their banishment from Tauria’s domain, it was still unclear if the alchemist’s plan was going to succeed…

Will Thrasyvoulos manage to apprehend the alchemist?

Choice

• No – The workshop explodes as per the alchemist’s plan and he escapes, killing off Thrasyvoulos as he tries to enter the premises.
• Yes – The explosive concoction does not work due to its hasty preparation, allowing Thrasyvoulos to apprehend the alchemist and his arcane belongings.

Chapter 2

The sky and sea where the color of jet, joined in the storm born darkness that had fused their expansive domains. The moon itself was lost beyond the roaring storm clouds that were sprawled across the heavens, with the only source of illumination being the radiant flashes of lightning that rhythmically pulsed over the clambering of countless waves. Amidst such chaos, Rysalektos – the sleek vessel named after the famed captain that had passed into the realm of myth and legends – made its way through the encroaching waves with diminished effort, cutting through the turbulent combers like a surgeon’s scalpel does through flesh. Ahead of the privateer vessel that was beholden to the ruler of Taj’Khinjaha was another ship, one of City States make, though lacking the clear markings that would reveal its specific allegiance.

Balancing at the very tip of the ship’s menacing prow – which was draped in faded bronze and doubled as an ocean-bound ram – Yindak looked ahead, his gaze never leaving the flickering form of the unmarked vessel that sailed in the distance ahead of them. They had been raiding Taurian waters for several days now, with the capture of one of Jahan’s prized alchemists stripping away the last vestiges of peace between Taj’Khinjaha and Minos’ domain. With the assistance of captain Theogoni and her ship, Rysalektos, the Skypiercer had already sunk two vessels belonging to Tauria, letting the sea claim them once and for all. Those ships, however, were different: they bore the markings of Tauria openly and proudly, careening towards the unassuming Rysalektos without a second thought when they first sighted the vessel. This ship followed no such conventions; it was clear that it was running away, and it exhibited none of the markings of Minos’ chosen. Yindak was certain that something was afoot here, making the capture of this mysterious target of paramount importance.

On the deck, sailors and soldiers alike scrambled towards their assigned duties, with those adorned with the flame-bound symbols of the Court of Fire showcasing their lack of experience when it came to traversing the open sea. Ol’ One-Horn towered over most of the men, dragging his oversized pegleg with each uneven step and laughing from deep within his throat. The weathered minotaur approached one of the Rajakur that clung to the railing, with the man having long lost his helmet and depositing the contents of his stomach into the frothing waters below. “Har!” cried out One-Horn, playfully slapping the vomiting man’s back and almost throwing him overboard, though he did not mean to do so. “You ought to grow some better sea-legs on ye, boy. Otherwise, you’re bound to lose more than a day’s worth of grog and food in these bastardly waters…”

The man did not respond, instead summoning more of his nausea-born gifts and hurling them straight into the sea. “We’re going to die here,” he muttered, defeated. “I’m going to die here…”

“Thing is!” shouted the minotaur, grabbing the Rajakur by the collar of his vest and keeping him from going overboard as the ship heeled, shuddering and creaking as a rambunctious gale lurched into it. “As I was saying,” continued One-Horn, with the ship once again becoming relatively leveled through the commendable efforts of its crew. “They say dying at sea is painless; like going to sleep… That’s a damn lie, that is! I reckon it’s more like having your lungs ripped straight out of yer gullet as ye struggle to breathe…” The Minotaur paused, letting the limp Rajakur fall onto the deck with a wet thump, signaling some of his peers to come over. “Bastard seems to have fainted. See to it that he is taken below and kept safe!”

With a nod, the other Rajakur obliged, dragging their incapacitated comrade and bowing their heads as they passed by the approaching captain, Theogoni.

“You know,” shouted the woman. “It’s unbecoming of the first mate to scare our guests like that!”

Ol’ One-Horn offered naught but an innocent smile, shrugging his massive shoulders.

Yindak approached the pair not too long after, his balance seemingly unaffected by the ship’s ocean-born careening. Pointing his spear towards the vessel ahead of them, which seemed to be gaining distance, he spoke, his voice cutting through the buffeting winds with unnatural grace and precision. “I need to get onboard that ship, captain!”

Theogoni looked up to meet the massive man’s gaze, feeling the sheer weight of his imposing presence wash over her, even when compared to the bestial stature of one such as Ol’ One-Horn. Though lashed by storm-bound winds and pelted by rain, Yindak seemed unbothered – his bare-chested form occasionally crackling with hints of electrical energy that seemed to thrum from deep within his body. “They’re too far ahead,” she finally responded, unsure if the man could hear her. “We lack the wind and speed to catch up with them. The storm will chew through us both if we continue with his hunt!”

Skypiercer Yindak exhaled with evident annoyance, slamming the base of his spear against the deck as if to prove a point. “How long can we last in this storm, captain? Before your ship begins to tear at the seams…”

“A day or two at the most. We should concern ourselves with finding a way out instead of—”

“Then our hunt shall be concluded in a matter of hours!” stated Skypiercer Yindak, not waiting for a response as he once more walked towards the ship’s prow. Placing his weapon down, he whistled, cutting through the cacophony of the storm that surrounded them as he orchestrated a signal of arcane potential. Soon after, a collection of Djinn appeared by Rysalektos’ side, manifesting as swirling wind-born apparitions that twisted with hurricane-like fervor. With a nod, the elementals and the Skypiercer communicated without the use of words, with the gathering of Djinn heading for the mainmast and rising to engulf the billowing canvas above.

The men below, those from Taj’Khinjaha bowed their heads with respect at the sight of the otherworldly arrivals, muttering with religious-like admiration as they did so. “The Heralds of the Four Winds. We are blessed…”

The Djinn cried out as they unleashed a monumental squall, propelling the lithe Rysalektos through the ocean with unnatural speed. The winds now blew in Yindak’s favor, guiding the ship that ferried him in opposition to the surrounding storm’s disagreeable whims and quickly closing the gap between himself and his target. Not much time passed until they were trailing behind their enemy, quickly approaching the other vessel’s stern.

“Reach them from port-side, and board the ship at my signal!” blared out Yindak towards Theogoni, leaping off the ship’s prow to everyone’s surprise and disbelief. Lightning flashed with blinding intensity, showering both vessels with dazzling white for a single moment. When the boom of thunder came around, deafening and guttural, as if the very storm called out to the world with primordial fury, Yindak was on the enemy craft – his body crackling and sputtering with elemental energies. Without hesitation, now facing the crew of the unmarked vessel that all stared at the Skypiercer with shock, Yindak began with his bloody work, jutting forward his grand spear with one hand and following its crimson path with the rest of his body.

For a man of notable size and with a musclebound frame, the Skypiercer moved with eerie swiftness and grace, bobbing and weaving between enemies with speed akin to a playful breeze. The piercing head of his spear, however, was anything but playful, cutting and puncturing those that stood in the Skypiercer’s way with bloody precision. Next, raising his oversized arcane gauntlet, which occupied his other hand, the Skypiercer summoned arcing lightning, sending out lashes of electricity that connected with whoever stood near him. “Now!” cried out Yindak as he moved towards the companionway, beginning to make his way below deck.

Sailing side-by-side with the unmarked vessel, Rysalektos glided as close as possible – unnaturally stable and dexterous due to the enchantments of the Djinn that guided the vessel. Rope-bound grappling hooks and boarding planks began to connect the two ships, allowing Theogoni and her crew to assist the Skypiercer with their blades. Soon, an all-out melee had broken out on the enemy craft’s deck, with weapons clashing and blood being mixed with seawater as Yindak went on with his business below…

Inside the ship’s gut, unperturbed by the chaos above, the Skypiercer came face to face with three warriors – though they looked nothing like the City States privateers he had faced thus far. They were adorned with plate armor, and they carried weapons befitting the men that come from the north of Taj’Khinjaha, from the Hundred Kingdoms. Without hesitation, both sides charged at each other, with one of the armored warriors landing the first blow with his sword. The slash was short yet forceful, with Yindak leaning back instinctively as it glided over his skin. A shallow gash now adorned his chest, crimson and raw. Pushing the pain back, Yindak lurched forward and drove his spear through the first warrior’s head, jamming it inside the opening of his helmet and twisting it to deadly effect. Next, he grabbed the second warrior’s sword mid-swing with his gauntlet, taking advantage of the tilting ship as the waves swelled outside, pulling the staggered man to him. With a decisive last move, he slammed the third warrior’s body with the shaft of his spear, bringing him closer as well and further tearing down his shaky balance, for none of these men were used to fighting under the influence of such disorderly waters.

Unleashing a final burst of lightning from deep within his body, Yindak brought the two remaining enemy combatants low, assaulting them with tendrils of electrical energy that slid through their armor, scorching their flesh. Finally, the battle was over, though the Skypiercer’s investigative mind was already trying to decipher the presence of such warriors – clearly from the Hundred Kingdoms – in a vessel most likely belonging to privateers from the greater City States.

Where the three warriors stood guard was a great chest, urging Yindak to move towards it and break open the lock with a forceful thrust from his gauntlet. Inside were coins – both valuable and of a more common variety – along with an assortment of precious metal bars, of gold and silver. The coins themselves were of a varied selection, with Yindak recognizing their markings as originating from the Hundred Kingdoms. In turn, the bars bore diverse symbols as well, though Yindak also understood them to be from the north, as he had studied much of the Hundred Kingdoms and their ways since his arrival in Alektria. No notes or other identifying items existed within the chest – whoever was in charge of this offering wanted to remain unknown.

One of the fallen warriors groaned, rolling to his side as the Skypiercer moved towards him. Grabbing him by the hair that remained on his head, Yindak spoke calmly yet firmly. “Speak of your mission and of your master, and I will make sure that you live. Your wounds are still treatable.”

The man cringed from the pain that ran through his body, his voice barely audible as he spoke. “Mercenaries… Headin’ for Tauria… We were hired by—”

The other electrocuted warrior, who had barely clung to life, lunged at Yindak with a drawn dagger, though his blade was not meant for the Skypiercer. The dagger dug deep into his comrade’s body, disallowing him to speak of their purpose any further. Yindak had jumped back expecting an attack and moved to apprehend the last remaining warrior immediately after, hearing the faint shattering of glass as he turned the man over. The mercenary was already foaming at the mouth, smiling as the ampule’s poison rushed into his veins and ended his life.

Theogoni stumbled behind Yindak shortly after, wiping flecks of blood from the corner of her mouth. “The deck has been cleared—Gods! What happened here?!”

Yindak stood up without reciprocating the woman’s concern, speaking calmly. “These men were delivering treasures to our enemies in Tauria, though they are not of Minos’ people. Their origin and the identity of this mission’s benefactor is unknown, though it is clear that Tauria has support beyond its means; I doubt this was the only shipment.” The Skypiercer paused, turning to face the captain. “Have you captured any prisoners? Did they offer any information?”

Theogoni spat on the floor, spittle mixed with blood landing next to her foot. “They were paid to head for Tauria. They loaded their cargo at some cove along the Allerian Plains, one out of sight. They say they know nothing more, and I believe them. People in our line of work are not paid to know more than they need to…”

“Very well,” conceded Yindak. “Take this chest to our ship, along with a single prisoner for further questioning. The ship and whoever remains belong to the sea now. You and your crew will not speak of this to anyone – not even Jahan. Keep this a secret, until otherwise instructed, and I will make sure you are rewarded doubly for your efforts. Now, let us set sail for Taj’Khinjaha!”

As the man made to move up towards the deck, Theogoni said nothing: the captain of Rysalektos had learned to trust Yindak, more so than Jahan the Shimmering Vizier, and would not share the results of this battle unless she had the Skypiercer’s blessing.

Within his own thoughts, Yindak analyzed the information before him. Foul play was certain at this point, and it appeared that someone was offering monetary support to Tauria from outside the City States, most likely from the side of the Hundred Kingdoms. Gerona was a prime suspect, due to its proximity to Taj’Khinjaha, though there were many within that mercenary hub that had the means to aid Tauria – or outsiders could have hired them to do their bidding. Yindak feared that Jahan, even though there was a lack of conclusive evidence, would act rashly – as he did most of the time – and risk Taj’Khinjaha’s diplomatic relations with Gerona over insubstantial suspicions. The potential involvement of Gerona made things more complicated, for the Vizier had hired mercenaries from that city to protect the interests of his settlement… No, they had to keep such information close and hidden, let their enemies reveal themselves while they feigned ignorance, but such was not Jahan’s way. Yindak struggled to decide in his mind: would he share this information with his master, the governor of Taj’Khinjaha, or would he keep it a secret, fearing that Jahan would act unwisely if he found out – despite the lack of damning evidence.

Will Skypiercer Yindak, upon his return to Taj’Khinjaha, share his findings with Jahan the Shimmering Vizier?

Choice

• Jahan is Yindak’s master and deserves to know of the Skypiercer’s findings.
• Jahan can be rash and unwise when angered; Yindak will not share his findings for fear of an ill-considered outburst from his master.

Chapter 3

Persenia stood at the edge of the outcrop, staring down at the trail of smoke that rose from the ravaged outpost some distance below. Tonight had an eerie calmness to it, with a clear and star-ladened sky. The moon’s ghostly nimbus radiated softly, crowning the darkened heavens with its tame, yet unsettling, glow. It had been a week since her army had arrived in Boubalia – the great city being the closest major point of contact between Tauria and the Allerian Plains to the west. Immediately, upon her arrival, a report had reached her: a skirmish force from Taj’Khinjaha had crossed over the border into the City States Peninsula, attacking one of the encampments that housed a fortified toll-gate belonging to Minos. Though this attack was close, still flush against the border between the two regions, it sparked concern in the Gorgon nonetheless. Coupled with the recent naval raids from the Sorcerer Kings, it was clear that the hostilities from Taj’Khinjaha and its forces were ramping up. The final crescendo of such efforts was war, and it seemed inevitable.

“The men are ready, my lady,” came a gruff voice from behind her, interrupting the natural stillness of the night. “We await your command to begin the charge.”

Persenia turned to face Ionas, leader of Boubalia’s cavalry core. She was grateful for the Ipparchos’ assistance; the man was skilled in the art of war, and skilled warriors seemed to be in short supply these days.

“Good,” responded Persenia with a nod, the serpents attached to her leathery scalp bobbing in accordance with her head’s movements. Most humans – for Persenia doubted if she was still human after her transformation – were unnerved by her appearance and of the multitudinous serpentine gazes that accompanied her own. Yet Ionas was no such man; he always met her eyes head on – embracing her and respecting her as a warrior and general. For that, the Gorgon favored the Ipparchos. “Take your riders and head towards the enemy’s flank. I will approach them by foot and draw them out. Stay far away and out of sight. Commence your charge at my signal.”

The force sent to deal with this incursion was small, but, under her command, the Gorgon knew she could accomplish much. The main army was left at Boubalia – ordered to prepare for the upcoming war that was now certain. Persenia left the promontory and headed back to the bivouac, barking orders at her ground troops without delay and setting a brisk pace as they trotted toward the lowland. They were few of them, fewer than the enemy she reckoned: victory was assured nonetheless.

Outside the toll-outpost, they stopped, the Gorgon and her cortege of warriors clearly visible over the simple wooden walls that encircled the site – drawing all the attention onto them. “Enemies of Tauria!” cried out the Gorgon. “Cowards! You attack merchants and civilians without honor. Come out and face true warriors – or do you fear us so?!”

The ensuing silence was only allowed to stretch for a few moments, with a stout, hog-like man emerging from the outpost’s main opening along with a slew of warriors. The man, the commander of the enemy force, was covered in gilded and ornate armor, his wide-set face contorting with glee as he grinned. “You threaten us, bull-worshiper, yet there are so few of you… Do all the sons and daughters of Tauria share the insanity that you display?!”

“Odd,” the Gorgon retorted. “When we culled your kind from Tauria’s outskirts, they did not seem so confident.” Persenia allowed herself to smile, the gesture feeling unnatural on her thin lips. “No… They cried and they begged – some even soiled themselves when we uprooted them. Yes… That is the only legacy of the Sorcerer Kings that I know of: a bunch of groveling cowards stained by their own impurities.”

The enemy commander gritted his teeth. His face was now ruddy and taut with anger – Persenia had struck a nerve. “You foul-mouthed cur… You lack honor!”

“You speak of honor, mage-thrall, but it was you and your men that attacked this outpost filled with travelers and merchants. We simply banished your kind. Your spineless lot raised your weapons against the unarmed and the vulnerable!” The Gorgon spat toward the direction of the Sorcerer Kings leader, her disrespect evident for all to see. “Let us settle this dispute then, your honor against mine, or are you afraid that I can best you even when at a disadvantage? Is your kind only capable of fighting behind walls and charms? Are you so cowardly that you would not fight an enemy that you clearly outnumber?!”

The enemy commander’s face had now ballooned with anger, his cheeks inflated with rage. A few orders were given, and more soldiers emerged from within the toll-outpost – some of elemental origin – spreading their numbers wide and forming a neat line. Most interestingly, the Gorgon noticed, the Sorcerer Kings were accompanied by foreign warriors. Unmistakably of the Hundred Kingdoms, these were mercenaries paid for and imported from Gerona, making up approximately one third of the enemy’s numbers. “You will pay for your insolence!” proclaimed the head-warrior, his voice seething with the promise of violence and revenge.

Persenia’s smile remained pinned onto her serpentine features, the woman mockingly spreading her arms as she spoke. “Make me!”

The soldiers of the Sorcerer Kings and their allies charged, accompanied by an elemental outburst of fire and wind. Persenia raised her fist, and her warriors gathered around her, forming a tight shield wall. The enemy crashed into them like a great wave, surrounding the Gorgon and her cadre like a swarm of wasps. Patience, Persenia thought, we need to hold out a bit more. Once the Taurian ground force was sufficiently surrounded, close to buckling and dispersing, the Gorgon spat out a command, and a warrior by her side reached for a war-horn hanging from his waist, sounding it.

Hidden by a nearby thicket and the slanted soil of the lowland, Ionas soared forward, followed by his elite entourage. The riders from Boubalia crashed into the tender flank of the Sorcerer Kings like a butcher’s cleaver through fresh meat, slicing deep into their ranks and breaking their carelessly formed mass in a matter of moments. The enemy now discombobulated, Persenia ordered the shield wall to unravel, lurching forward and slicing through hostile soldiers effortlessly. Akin to a master painter, who caresses bare canvas with the lightness and affection of a lover’s touch, Persenia embraced her enemies, painting a scene of elating bloodshed with each flick of her wrists.

Soon, the Gorgon came face-to-face with the commander that had opposed her, pointing both of her blades at the man. The request for a duel was clear for all to see, and those that surrounded them made room to honor such a sacred rite. The man, a deep gash above one of his eyebrows, had tears of blood rushing down his portly features. He raised his two-handed, curved sword and charged, lunging towards Persenia and swinging his weapon in a wide and powerful arc. At the very last second, right before the blade would have taken her head, the Gorgon ducked, splaying one of her legs while crouched and kicking the foot of her enemy. The man fell, landing on his back. He did not have time to react, for Persenia leaped atop him without giving him room to regain his composure, planting one sword forcefully into his gut and dragging it across his belly. As the man screamed and convulsed, trying to push back his slinking entrails into his body, Persenia looked up – those of the enemy that had survived were now dropping their weapons, resigning themselves from the concluded conflict.

Ionas dismounted and approached the Gorgon, a sliver of pride resonating in his voice. “The outpost is once again Tauria’s, lady. What of the prisoners?”

Persenia turned her multifaceted serpentine gaze towards those that were captured, noticing the shame, fear, and defeat that shimmered in their eyes. “Those of Taj’Khinjaha are to be put to the sword for their crimes…” The words that followed were filled with disgust and contempt. “Show them Minos’ love. Make them suffer as they die – an eye for an eye and all of that.” Without pause, Persenia addressed Ionas directly. “We are to head back to Boubalia and prepare the main army – I will march for the Allerian Plains once I’ve settled on my final plan. You will stay in the city until further notice; I fear Boubalia herself might be under threat in the chaos that is sure to come…”

As the Gorgon made to move away, Ionas called out to her, walking hurriedly in an effort to catch up with her. “Lady, what of the mercenaries? They might hold important information about Jahan’s relationship with Gerona – Taj’Khinjaha has attracted many hired blades, their origin might prove of use!”

Persenia hissed, her forked tongue peeking through her non-existent lips. She approached one of the captured men, his blond hair caked with sweat and blood. He was young and fresh-faced; this was probably his very first contract as a sellsword.

“We know nothing! They never told us who sold our services to the Sorcerer Ki—” the man groaned as a Taurian soldier struck him with the haft of his spear. “You will speak when you are spoken to!”

The Gorgon, a rarity, felt indecisive. These were common soldiers, mercenary chaff that would not be privy to knowledge of strategic importance; though, she could be wrong – however miniscule the chance. Persenia lifted her head, the command regarding the fate of the mercenaries finally breaking free…

What will Persenia the Gorgon do with the captured mercenaries?

Choice

• Kill them – They are lowly soldiers and most likely know nothing of importance.
• Keep them as prisoners – They are to be interrogated thoroughly and all knowledge bled from them.

Epilogue

Count Malvino stared at the flames before him with intensity, barely blinking as he watched the fire consume the piled-up dried logs that were neatly stacked at the fireplace’s center. The weather was still warm – certainly too warm for setting up a fireplace – but the count enjoyed its heat, nonetheless. The world outside, that of Gerona and its streets, was a cacophony of activity, surrounding Malvino’s, famed mercenary commander, morose estate in a sea of life. Behind him, encased by the baroque, swarthy walls of his audience chamber, were two men and one woman; they were all standing attentively, silent until spoken to. Malvino turned around and faced all of them, a wave of stifling heat following his hawkish gaze. He saw beads of sweat forming on each of their foreheads and precipitation stains peeking unevenly through their clothing. Count Malvino could not help but smile, finally speaking.

“Spymaster, recount what you told me in confidence, so that my son and his ‘tail’ might be informed…” said the count, pointing a dagger-like finger at two of the gathered company.

Lord Malvino II, sole son and heir of Count Malvino, bit his lip, saying nothing. He was a large and gruff man – very much unlike the slimness and elegance of his father – with a thick waist and even thicker shoulders. His patchy black beard was uneven and untrimmed, while a long fleshy scar lined his feature from his left eyebrow, reaching beyond his ample lips. To his side was Agatha, Malvino II’s second in command, wearing plate armor in the same fashion as her commander – even when inside the estate of his father and surrounded by Count Malvino’s guards. Agatha had hair the color of straw and freckles crowned her round face; she, akin to Malvino II, was a soldier first, and her broad shoulders and callused hands made that clear for all to see.

The remaining subordinate – Conrad, spymaster for Count Malvino’s family for too long a time – was notably tall, thin, and old; though none knew his exact age or whether Conrad was his real name at all. Leathery lips parted, barely visible through a drooping, snow-white mustache, and the spymaster spoke. “All is going as planned, master. Our maneuvers and interference continue unobstructed; mostly, that is… One of our loan shipments to Tauria was intercepted some time ago; however, the Vizier seems unperturbed despite its discovery. I suspect his men are withholding information from Jahan; perhaps they lusted over the valuables that had been sent forth. More recently, we received a report that some of our subcontracted mercenaries to Taj’Khinjaha were captured and imprisoned by Tauria; nevertheless, they know little, so whatever the bull-worshipers extract from them is unlikely to be too damaging… Regardless, the ultimate goal has been reached, master. Taj’Khinjaha and Tauria are at each other’s throats. Their chosen generals, Yindak and Persenia, will clash soon. War is guaranteed.”

“Music to my ears!” exclaimed Count Malvino, clapping with evident excitement. Despite his gray hair and fading age, Malvino was still as radiant as ever. His face was avian-like, with a hooked and sharp nose, flared blue eyes, and a feathery mustache that curled upwards towards his cheeks – a hawk masquerading as a man.

“Father!” interjected Malvino II, his voice heavy and hoarse like gravel. “This is foolish! Some of the other mercenary commanders have started to become suspicious. Rumors have been circulating that the Merchant of Woes has been feeding this war through shadowy and dishonorable means—”

“I told you not to use that title!” hissed the count, his eyes wide with anger.

“Forgive me, father. I did not mean to offend you…” responded Malvino II with deference. “All I am saying is that if those within Gerona have begun to grow suspicious, then it is a matter of time before Tauria and Taj’Khinjaha do so too; they are bound to figure out your interference eventually. We must strike them now. Attack them while they are still unaware and in the dark!”

Count Malvino took a step forward and struck his son with the back of his hand, one of his rings cutting into Malvino II’s face and flecking his features with blood. The room was suddenly robbed of all sound, even the city-spawned ruckus of Gerona from outside fading out.

“I will explain my plan – what’s at stake – for the hundredth time. I will explain everything as if I’m doing so to a child; for a petulant whelp is exactly what you are. This time, I hope the hollow gourd you have for a head will be able to assimilate a modicum of what I say. Iron ore is highly sought after in the Hundred Kingdoms, with the Riismark campaign and the more recent assault on Pravia sealing that fact. Wars and armies are fueled by iron, and many seek to replenish their forces. I have spent a considerable amount of my wealth, our family’s wealth, to stock up on said resource. Much coin has been spent on buying the damn thing, moving it around, and setting up dozens of warehouses across the land. The only hurdle in my way was Tauria, for the bull-worshiping bastards provide much of the imported iron ore that feeds the Hundred Kingdoms, and their prices are well too low for my liking. With the war that is infecting the Allerian Plains, the iron trade from Tauria to the Hundred Kingdoms is obstructed and has thus ceased. Already, many of those that seek iron to forge their weapons flock to me, and I can charge whatever I please; they will still buy it. We must keep the hostilities between Taj’Khinjaha and Tauria alive for as long as possible. If a victor emerges in the war to come, I aim to secretly support the loser and reignite it. Continued war in the Allerian plains ensures that no iron ore reaches the Hundred Kingdoms from the south, and that is where we profit. Attacking them with our own forces would unravel everything I have worked towards: rumors exist, but there is no substantial evidence to connect this war to me. I have made sure of that. Openly going against either Taj’Khinjaha or Tauria – or, Theos forbid, both of them – would brand me as an enemy. My ability to manipulate Jahan and Minos’ lot would be taken away from me, others might become aware of my intentions, and I might have to deal with wars directly aimed at me in the future. I will NOT let this happen!”

Malvino breathed out as his tirade came to an end, closing his eyes momentarily and opening them to glower at his son once more. “Do you finally comprehend the gravity of the situation?!”

Malvino II did not respond, unblinking.

“Answer me, you oaf! YES OR NO?!”

“Yes, father. I understand,” spoke the count’s son calmly, the room once more overcome by silence.

“May I be excused, master?” Spymaster Conrad seemed unaffected by what he had witnessed, showing no emotions – be they negative or positive – across his gnarled features.

Count Malvino waved him away with a flick of his wrist. “You may, this meeting is concluded. I am to leave within the day. There is important business for me to attend to northwards.” As the Spymaster bowed and left, the count turned and readdressed his son. “Your orders remain the same. You are to take your troops and observe the upcoming war from a distance. Your mere presence should deter the battling from spreading too close to Gerona’s walls. However, you will not – under any circumstance – interfere. Do not attack! Let Taj’Khinjaha and Tauria fight amongst themselves; let us hope they do so until my coffers are more bloated than a pregnant sow…”

Count Malvino smiled at the thought of the vast riches that were within his grasp, turning his attention to his son one last time. “Gather your men and leave as soon as possible. Follow my orders to the letter, as you have always done, and do not act or think on your own accord. You lack the mental capacity to do so. Understood?”

Malvino II bowed; so did Agatha at his side. “Understood, father. Is that all?”

“That is all. You are to report to me with news of the conflict when I’m back. Leave my sight.”

The walk from Count Malvino’s estate to Malvino II’s troop encampment outside Gerona’s walls began with a stretch of wordlessness, with Agatha being the first to break the silence. “Are you going to do it? Are you going to follow your father’s orders?”

Malvino II swerved and swung his fist into a wall, chipping the stone from the force of the impact. The man was panting, his hate for his father coursing like fire through his veins. “To leave such an opportunity unclaimed – the Plains so open and ripe for conquering…” Malvino II regained his composure and continued walking, grunting. “We are to ready the troops immediately.”

Behind him, Agatha could not help but smile broadly, showcasing her yellowed teeth. “Aye!”

Fanning the Fire

The time of reckoning has arrived! The Sorcerer Kings and the City States clash as the settlement of Taj’Khinjaha and the City State of Tauria fight over the future of the Allerian Plains. Spurred into action by the hostile maneuvers of Taurian troops, Skypiercer Yindak leads the forces of the Sorcerer Kings towards the border city of Boubalia in the City States Peninsula, wishing to cut off Tauria’s access into the Allerian Plains once and for all. In his way stands Persenia the Gorgon, who – with the use of her ingenious strategic mind and unyielding fighting spirit – wishes to halt the advance of her sorcerous enemies and push them back into their settlement of Taj’Khinjaha, claiming dominion over the Allerian Plains for Tauria and the bull-god Minos. In this clash between thunderous intent and bullish grit, there can be only one victor!

Vote for the faction you wish to win below! The vote will last until the 27^th of December 2024, and the end result will influence the future of Conquest’s world. To read the full story of this monumental war and immerse yourself in a grand narrative, feel free to interact with the Crucible of Wills: Fanning the Fire lore campaign!

Which faction will claim victory?

Choice

• The City States Win!
• The Sorcerer Kings Win!