In the cold of a broken country, the winter storms around them, Theodren continued riding to wherever the commander deemed necessary.

Unlike the horses of war, the stallions they were mounted on lacked armor, only worn saddles of leather tied in various knots.

Each rider wore different armor. Some gambeson, some mail, some with steel helms, some without. Some with torn rags, some tailored and form fitting, and all cloaked in winter coats.

On their left or right remained sheathed weapons forged either recently or many years prior, and in some; only spears, and even less so: wooden clubs.

Wooden board shields: some coated with iron, leather hide, or steel, others painted. Adrian Mot, as Theodren grew to understand the name of, had a rather large shield on his back. He wore bear guard armor, just as during the war for Greymeria only decades prior.

Bear guard armor was cloaked with black or white fur from the bears in that land. That fur held around their chest and back like a thick scarf, with the backside dripping downward like a cape. On the sleeves were leather made from bear hide, with chain-mail on top, and that same fur as the final layer.

Although a few talked quietly among themselves, the route was mostly filled with no more than the crushing of snow under each horse's hoof.

For once, the sun showed itself from its isolation those past weeks. It shined its heated rays on their backs. With so little distraction, the chance of escape was no pressing matter to Theodren.

Adrian glanced to him over a dozen times.

All around them; hills, dead bushes, ridges covered in ice, were dead silent. Frozen marshes painted the landscape in white, with long grass creeping through.

"Where are we going?" Theodren hesitated as he reluctantly glanced to his sides.

"To the edge of the world; of steep and cracked mountains of the far east, or perhaps to the deserts of Drakari, buried in the sand. Maybe north, to where yer mouth could be shut by the winds of ice in the frozen seas of Greymeria." Adrian replied, his care as legitimate as a eunuch's future offspring. "My, that would be a sight."

Theodren sighed.

"Arm yourselves, quickly now." The leader said.

After everyone had taken hold of their shields, spears, or secondary weapons, Theodren took his final calm breath and sighed before gripping to his own.

Over the edge of a hill slope looked to be a group of more than twenty Zerethian; some heavily armored, while others with no more than cloth and minor weaponry. The less armored ones carried whips, and they were lashing out at supposed prisoners whose hands were tied at their lower backs with rope. It was surprising those poor souls' bare fingers didn't fall off from the cold.

"Alright. They may be double our numbers and lack any fear, but with a full charge with our horses, and we should easily crush them. Not even an army of puppets can stop the rampage of Lorlynian stallions." The commander whispered to Adrian.

Although the leadership should've been none of his concern, Theodren's gained insight bothered him far too dear to keep silent.

"No-no-no. They are trapped in a ravine. Look." Theodren led his horse between the two. "See? They hold spears and tower shields, prisoners surrounded on all sides."

Theodren turned his head towards the commander. Adrian tucked his arms against his scale armor chest plate in an irritated silence.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" The commander cackled.

"If we distract their front with a charge, the others in the back will follow in defense. Send two of your best men alongside me to their back as they're rallied. With your distraction, I can lead your men to flank them from behind and set the prisoners free." At that quiet yet sudden reply, the commander was lost of words. Shocked, of course, but Selena had already warned him prior. "If you want to win this war, sheer passion won't get you far."

With the commander silently in shock, he separated the forces just as Theodren requested.

The commander led the frontal assault with most of the men, around eight or so, steadying the horses a clean distance.

Theodren inspected them quickly, and Adrian made sure to include one final set of whispers as they parted ways.

"Be glad Selena takes favor of ye. Disregardin' yer place in our ranks will only further divide ye from gainin' a higher standin'." Adrian whispered to Theodren's right ear as they rode together. "But I respect a good gamble when I see one. Best hope yer plan be made true."

On the passage between cliffs below them, the prisoners caught on to what was around, while the Zerethian saw nothing; still ordering the prisoners forward.

One horse grunted loudly as it slid on ice. The enemy was made aware in an instant and rallied to his side solely by one of the rider's missteps. It was not the side meant to be seen first....

Just as Theodren thought, the Zerethian fortified a shield wall on the side taken notice of. Pikes extended between each shield. The shields stood a man's height, and the Zerethian stuck spear tips on the bottom of each into the ground.

"Back! Back! Move!" Theodren ordered in an abrupt manner, unprepared for the sudden change. His heart began to race in panic, a surge of the same energy he once felt years prior. His horse grunted loudly as he pulled it back with force. He almost fell off it by how sudden he hit its breaks.

The two others, riding beside him, were considered the best fighters aside from Adrian and the commander, yet they too were clueless of Theodren's plans, looking to each other. They slowly followed along and led their horses beside his, both concerned of what was ahead.

Behind the shield wall was the commander and the rest of the scout force. They all seemed confused by how the plan was being unveiled and knew not if it was Theodren's intent all along or simply a minor mistake that corrupted the entire ambush.

Despite the distraction on the back end; there was one human there, armored with the same royal prestige as the High Guard. Unlike the High Guard, however, his armor didn't shine. It was dark grey, polished clean, and was held by more protection on the head and shoulders.

The helmet was a bassinet, blackened with a foreign symbol of letters on the forehead. which was also found on all the shields and chest plate of the Zerethian armor.

The man wore the same black cape on top of the armor, resting it over his back, just as the High Guard. The difference, however, was that the symbol of a king's jagged and jeweled golden crown between a High Guard's sword resting on a knight's shield was nonexistent. Instead, a single thick black line struck down the middle without any curving. To the left, a line curved as a half circle away from the center line, equal to the right side. It was Almar's banner.

"Shield wall!" The enemy ordered, surrounding the prisoners in a circle.

Theodren's stallions held their ground.

"My, do tell. What do a band of raiders wage to take from their own kin?" The fallen man confidently asked in a raspy, aged voice.

"You seem to have lost your place, old man. You ride without a steed, without a heart, nor soul. The fragments that remain hide under blackened steel and a foreign banner," Theodren replied quickly. The commander intended to be the first, but Theodren's final words demanded sealed lips, "my, do tell. What does a broken lord hope to gain from a broken king?"

The man, by then dumbfounded and without clever wit to reply, unsheathed his sword and brought out his shield. From dishonor, he ordered the line to charge in a shield wall towards both sides.

Despite Theodren's order, the commander set his cavalry to try and maneuver around the wall and flank the enemy from behind. The horses slipped on padded snow and ice, and some men fell off their horses, one of which was the commander himself.

Theodren's eyes strayed from pure focus to that of disarray and fear. Worry could never have been a title worthy of his concern, for it was far more dire an issue. He felt the guilt rush over his mind in an instant. Not once aside from training had Theodren lost a battle by his tactics, as Zoran had always advised his decisions, and the situation then was no different from previous battles.

He gripped his sword in anger, hoping not to be the cause of a stranger's death.

He led his horse towards the rear; galloping, crushing the almost rock-hard snow in haste and fury.

The Zerethian reacted to his pleads, a few running towards him to get in position to counter his charge. In a divide of tides, he switched the maneuver of his horse towards the right of them, dismounting. Despite the unstable ground, he kept his balance without any struggle. Holding on to his chipped and rusting long axe, he cut through the wood of their spear tips in separate alternating swings. In response, those few Zerethian unsheathed their swords, blocking their shields and using their swords in defense.

By that point, he noticed that Adrian had fallen down just as the commander. Everyone seemed to be fighting independently: no strategy to be seen.

Theodren was even more furious at that fact. He was blocked back as if to prevent him from pursuing but not to kill for reasons beyond Theodren. That anger grew, and in doing so, he dodged the defensive blows, grabbing the shield of the one on the far left while it was still attached. He grabbed that blank faced Zerethian and threw it at the other two, stomping on them with heavy kicks on their arms, taking away their weapons. He took out a secondary weapon, a small dagger, and stabbed their throats upon removing their helmets.

With his spike of energy and multiple poundings to his head by the shields of his last foes, he was light-headed. His breathing fell slowly and with a disarrayed feeling as the steam rose from his mouth, choking his throat with ice.

"Ya daft blighter!" Adrian's voice could be heard from his back.

Theodren turned towards the sound with his senses still slightly impaired.

With a broad swing, the commander of the Zerethian struck down his high guard blade onto Adrian's shoulder. It seemed Adrian tried to block with his shield to protect Theodren and him both. Adrian had fallen, and the man stomped on his beaten down face as well as his stomach in a quick succession.

"You savage! You thought I intended to kill him?... Heavens, no!" The Zerethian commander stated in response. "My, but I do enjoy this little game.... Fighting to save each other from the inevitable. I do envy that courage."

Adrian face was battered. His eyes had swollen, nose stained rain, and breathed a faint whisper.

Theodren decided to fight back despite his altered state. His swings were not as strong then, but he struck out anyway. The Zerethian commander wouldn't respond, only laughing in response.The man then slapped Theodren's face with a leather glove, making his vision clearer. Theodren's senses were awakened; beyond the man's notice, of course.

Theodren picked up his battle axe. The man shook for a moment but still believed the great Theodren was at a limp.

In mere moments, quicker than the man could react, Theodren struck the blunt end with as much force as the charge of a boar, right against their forehead. With a foul cry, they fell to the ground in a violent clash and then silence.

Theodren shook his head once more, to which he noticed that the fighting was over. He heard praises, but he could not savor them. His mind had grown too heavy.

A loud grunt pushed Theodren's leg. Theodren turned to see Adrian's frail body begging for his assistance, slowly moving but mute. Not far from him laid their enemy passed out.

Adrian's Greymer armor had a large tear at the top of the fur cloak. While Theodren believed Adrian fell from a single blow to the shoulder, it seemed the steel scales on his chest were bent towards his body. Blood was seeping out like a fresh spring. There was nothing to tend to them, no more than torn cloth from their outfits.

It was certain that if they didn't leave in due haste to meet Selena, Adrian would die.

"That's enough cheering! Here lies your commander, a defiled corpse." Theodren spoke aloud o the riders. "And even more so; Adrian, your new leader, has fallen in my place."

The riders stood in silence. The prisoners were freed also, but to them, there was no reason to celebrate. They, too, were suffering, so it was undoubted that all needed to return to the camp in due haste for the betterment of them all.

"We must take them and return to them their aid, for we can not achieve this path on false praise!" Theodren embarked his final words.

Though the silence was hardly enduring, they listened and set on to their horses once more, along with the previous prisoners.

He looked down to the dead commander as well as others. There was no time to bury their bodies. The horses walked over them, and their supplies were taken for future use.

Before their leave, however, Theodren looked back to consider what should've become of the general they had faced, but it seemed he was gone. A horse was also taken, though by then, more horses remained than the riders. He gave a final look before departing to the camp, glancing at the snow-covered hills and barren trees from beyond.
_______________________________________

Days continued to pass with as many continuous tribulations as each before. For Valora, the poison inside her body tormented her at an equal pace. It was like her fate of torment was simply prolonged. At the passing of the sun, just before the moon came up in the horizon, however; her strength... had returned....

It wasn't noticeable at first. She continued to lay in bed, isolated from sound and worry. Around her was a cage she couldn't escape.

She focused on the room around her; dolls made of knitted cloth that looked to never had been used, while small wooden swords cracked and aged rested against the wall at the left side of her bed. Pillars of fine detail and artwork spread out evenly among the somewhat rectangular room of marble and wondrous paints of white with strands of wood.

She slowly rose from her bed, looking in all directions, hearing for any sound. She stood up and began walking as though the pain had left.

Quickly, however; footsteps began creeping her way. She ran towards the bed again.

The door had opened a jar.

She set herself in the same position she remained for the past month: her head rested on a slightly raised feather pillow against the bed helm. On top of that, her body remained under many finely woven sheets of cloth. A high-quality wooden tray at a few parts of the day remained in slumber at her left side (on top of the blanket).

Footsteps met the door, and with a racing heart, it opened.

There came a gentle voice in her ears. She sighed with closed eyes: it was Ayda.

Her gentle footsteps approached the bedside, Valora lying still as though she didn't notice.

While the room and the rest of the Sadorian estate remained an art piece worthy of royal sophistication, Ayda wore nothing but a hole and stain ridden night-gown.

"Can you stand, miss?"

Valora looked to the girl with squinted eyes as she stepped even closer for a whisper.

"You are doing well, yes?"

Valora was perpetually in a state of theatrical intrigue. She wouldn't allow herself to unveil her true intentions until every word was spoken from that maid, to be certain each others thoughts had made an alliance.

"I provided you a meal this morning, miss. Did you not drink the wine I poured?" The girl hesitated to come closer, to what looked like fear in her eyes as Valora glanced it. "I...I gave you medicine, miss. I thought it would help you...."

Ayda took a breath.

"I...I wanted to say no to what you said. I didn't want it to be true, but...you was right, miss."

Valora's eyes went more open in that moment.

"He... had a cure all along.... I know that now...." her head was held down, "master talked and talked..."

The girl began to shiver, and tears gently fell down her face.

Valora rushed over to hold by her side.

"It's alright, Ayda. Many times, people can't escape the prison that hold them and remain oblivious until the day they die." Valora spoke with a smile, warming Ayda's heart as she held her. "But you, Ayda. You are as young as I was when I left this place eight years ago. Escaping it is what matters, not how long it took."

"But miss...I...I stole a life's worth of that cure...and now I...I don't know what to do." Ada spoke with that same voice of fear and sadness, her face resting in the bend of Valora's right arm.

Valora stopped patting her back at that remark and hastily removed herself from the embrace.

"Is it with you?" Valora spoke quickly at eye length to Ayda, trying to keep her voice down despite the sudden surge of excitement.

"Yes, miss." Ayda pulled out a small leather bag, no more than two fists big, with something moderately heavy to hold inside it. The room had no more than a few candles, so seeing what was inside felt impossible. "This."

Valora held the bag in hand, towards the front face of her chest by height, and her eyes staring downward at it.

The material looked to be a food of some sort. She would call it an herb, but each one looked to be a large edible seed, with an odd scent.

"What do we do now, miss?"

"For now, call me by name, but only after we leave this place." Valora walked in the dark towards the window, feeling around until she grabbed her mother's sword, unsheathing it, and tying its sheath and strap to her waist. "We're busting out of here." She said in a whisper, walking towards the room door.
______________________________________

From black, there around Carrion's body was a cold haze, his head numb and lips parched. He slowly got up.

There stood a room of clutter; books scattered across tables and the floor, wooden seats with their own ambitions, or on the floor around the creaking wool bed he laid on: the floor of cave.

"You're awake." A voice said, their body shaded by the light of a fireplace: the only light around him. You could hear metallic clanking as though they were stirring a pot.

"Seems so." Carrion replied, his hand on his aching forehead, a vibration booming behind his eyes.

The being smirked under their breath. "I'm sure you have many questions." They replied, a familiar voice.

"Perhaps a few." Carrion rubbed his head, peering around with squinting eyes. "Where are we?"

"Talmon's bog, east of the capital." They spoke plainly, the sound of stiring from a pot filling the room. "You're safe for now."

Carrion turned to his side.. and promptly regretted it. Before him stood a being as tall as Theodren, endowed in thick layers of black..and its face... drenched in scales with the color of bone, daggers protruding from its lips, and the stare of a beast. At first he believed it human, but learned quickly it was not.

"Seven hells!" Carrion fell off his bed in a sudden burst of fear. His back pressed against the stone ground below him, making him throbe.

"For your sake, don't fear it." The being by the pot spoke, wise as an elder, but quick as the youth. "It seeks, but not to harm."

"Seeking what?" Carrion stood up, hand against his scabbard, glancing to the outside of the cave, of what faded light showed --- a bog.

"The answer to our problems." They replied. "To all our problems."

There was a short pause, and Carrion was uncertain to ask what they meant.

"It seeks the blade, the only thing that can kill Almar." They stopped stirring the pot.

Carrion wiped his eyes, hand shaking in the grip of his bladem "Who...who are you?"

"A nameless traveler." They approached, handing him a bowl of stew. "One you've met."

"Fenris?" Carrion hesitated to ask.

"Ah..Fenris...that's it. The beast that defied its god, destined to one day slay it." They pinched their chin, pondering. "Yes..you may call me that name."

Carrion's shaking didn't falter. The black cloaked beast held eyes deep in him, and those final words left him certain the traveler by the name "Fenris" wasn't someone he knew.

"

"I had..other matters to mend." Fenris picked up the bowl, sticking it in Carrion's mouth, to which he gagged.

"Eat. Your strength wavers."

"It's not the only thing that wavers." Carrion mumbled, devouring the bowl. "Why am I here? Why did you leave? And.. what is that thing?"

Fenris stood calmly, grabbing Carrion's hand, leading him to a bed further in the room, holding a lantern to guide them both, as well as footsteps from the dark figure that stood at his bed helm, behind him.

"That thing is a shape-shifter, and one day, you'll admire that."

There in the bed was a frail being. Carrion wished to see more, but Fenris pulled his hand away.

Long dark brown hair, a pale face with a small button nose, a child-like complexion, a feminine body, and closed eyes. There were bangs dangling down its forehead, which was made red by whatever it was enduring.

"Familiar?"
_______________________________________

Wounded and crippled, the Zerethian commander stumbled up the steps of the Lorlyn Palace, a beacon in the Capitol. There gathered many previous vassals of King Derek. Armand Malrick was among them, shocked at the sight.

"Kiren?" Armand's footsteps roared.

"The palace..now!" Kiren mumbled, parched lips and squinting eyes.

He held Kiren in grip, nodding his head, and led him there.

Through a dark, unused hallway, they went to an empty room, lit only by the evening light through a small window.

Armand took one final glance beyond the entry door, then shut it behind him, handing Kiren a canteen of water, to which he gulped in full.

With loud breaths, Kiren began.

"He's alive... Theodren..."

Armand's eyes struck open, empty of breath and voice.

He would not speak, turning his back to Kiren.

"Armand?"

"Why..why do I not doubt it?" Armand began to tremble.

"He's gathered a small band, but it won't be long before it grows into something more." Kiren paused. "What say you?"

Armand growled with closed eyes.

"Is this my fate? Bound to this peasant's folly? I'm left with no choice." Armand gripped his fist. "We will speak of this another time."