Chapter Text
Alright, let me catch you up on our history, friend. Back in the day, there were these five kingdoms in Xeareane: Qesliniel, Zeomore, Pikiriris, Crezziwyth, and Skyward. They didn't always get along, like any bunch of neighbors. Who gets what piece of land, who's in charge of what stuff – you know the drill. But despite their differences, they all kinda agreed on one thing: whatever they did, it was supposed to be for their own folks. Nice sentiment, right? Well, that didn't last for my story.
So, Xaereane used to have these two big shots: Pikiriris and Skyward. But over time, Skyward decided to split into two – Crezziwyth and Zeomore – 'cause they couldn't agree on stuff and their ruling system fell apart. Pikiriris, on the other hand, had its own issues and ended up splitting into Qesliniel after a big fight between their army leader and the royal family. That fight led to a real nasty war, where Qesliniel broke free but paid a heavy price in lives lost.
But hold on, the story's not done yet. Pikiriris isn't just sitting around twiddling their thumbs. Nope, they got all aggressive and started acting even worse than before. Now, I grew up in Pikiriris, learned how to swing an ax, shoot a bow, and track down prey like a pro. All that was supposed to be for protecting my home, or so they said. But let me tell you, that place never felt like home to me. Not in a million years.
And then it hit me – this realization – during a wild showdown with a paladin. We were stationed outside the massive gates of Zeomore, all set for a battle. We got there in a cart pulled by centaur prisoners, believe it or not. These centaurs were a decent bunch, not giving our horses a hard time and making our journey easier. When we reached Zeomore's gates, something strange happened. They didn't draw their swords on us, even though we were there to crash their party. It should've been swords-out time, considering we were there to invade their turf.
Now, my fellow soldiers and I, we took a moment to mull over this oddity. Here we were, ready to take on these folks, and they're not raising a fuss. It got me thinking real hard about what I'd been taught and what I was seeing right in front of me. The clash of history and reality hit me like a sack of bricks. And that's when things started to change, like the beginning of a new chapter in an old tale. Maybe, just maybe, we didn’t have to roughhouse all the time to make our point.
So there I was, standing face to face with Adren Hollowstrike, the paladin in all his shiny armor. He looked at me like he could read my thoughts or something. "You're not like the others," he said, his voice all calm and commanding.
I scratched my head, feeling like I was being put on some kind of soapbox. "Yeah, well, I've got a lot of questions, you know? This whole fight, this whole mess we're in – it just doesn't add up."
Adren gave me this little smile, like he'd been expecting this. "You've got a point. The stories we're fed, the reasons we're given – they're not always the full picture. It's up to us to dig deeper, to find the real truth."
I nodded, trying to take in what he was saying. "But what can I do? I'm just a rookie, a grunt in the grand scheme of things."
He looked at me like I was more than that – like I could be something more. "You've already done the hard part. You've started to question, to think for yourself. That's where change begins."
Just then, chaos erupted behind us – the clash of weapons, the shouting of soldiers. It seemed like things had gone from bad to worse between our side and Adren's crew.
Adren's face tightened with worry, and he glanced back at the turmoil. "This is a turning point. You've got a choice to make – whether to let the cycle of violence continue or to rise above it."
I hesitated, torn between my loyalty to my comrades and the realization that maybe there was another way. But before I could decide, a barrage of arrows and spells exploded from the Zeomore defenders, hitting my fellow soldiers hard.
I watched as the battlefield turned into chaos – arrows finding targets, magic lighting up the scene. Adren met my eyes, his expression serious. "Listen, we might not be on the same side, but now's not the time for talking."
His words hit me like a slap in the face. I could hear the shouts and screams, the clash of weapons, and I knew I had to act. Without thinking twice, I raised my ax and jumped into the fight, trying to protect my fellow soldiers from the onslaught.
In that mess of battle, all my thoughts of questioning and change got shoved to the back of my mind. The urgency of the situation, the survival instinct – it all took over. And as much as I wanted to believe that one moment of clarity could change things, the reality was harsh. The fights, the divisions, the history – they were all bigger than me, bigger than any of us. Then bloodshed. As clashes of steel and magic raged on, I found myself in a frenzy, swinging my ax and defending my fellow soldiers. The arrows whizzed past, the ground shook with the impact of spells, and the screams of pain were drowned out by the overwhelming chaos.
Amidst the turmoil, I saw Captain Hollowstrike's figure stand tall. His presence was like a beacon of resolve in the midst of the storm. His command and authority were evident as he rallied his men, but I could also see a hint of sorrow in his eyes – the weight of leading, of decisions that had to be made on the battlefield.
Then, it happened. A retreat – a desperate scramble to regroup. But not everyone made it out unscathed. The toll of battle was etched on the faces of the paladins, and I could see that some had fallen. Adren's face was a mixture of grief and determination as he directed the survivors.
In the aftermath of the retreat, I found myself beside Adren, amidst the scattering. The chaos had subsided, leaving behind a grim reality. Adren's gaze met mine, and I could see a shared understanding, knowing that this was not the path either of us had hoped for.
He knelt beside a wounded soldier, a man who had fought alongside us, and his face contorted with pain. There was no saving him. Adren's hand rested on the soldier's forehead, a gesture of mercy and compassion. It was a swift end, an act of kindness during the final blow.
As I looked on, my heart ached for the soldier and for Adren, burdened with the weight of leading in a world torn by conflict. Our eyes met again, and I could see the weariness, the conflict, but also the determination that refused to waver.
Hw turned to me, his expression a mix of emotions – grief, acceptance, and something else. "Let's go," he said, his voice holding a new sense of camaraderie, "we need to get you out of here."
I nodded, my own exhaustion setting in, the adrenaline of battle giving way. With Adren's support, I stumbled towards the gates of Zeomore. It was there, within the safety of those stone walls, that he introduced himself properly, and I did the same.
"Adren Hollowstrike, protector of Zeomore," he said with a half-smile, "and you, Conar, a soldier who questions the status quo."
I couldn't help but chuckle at the way he put it. "Yeah, that's me, I guess."
Zeamore, the heart of innovation and the seat of a unique social order, unfolded before me. The absence of towering castle walls and royal banners marked a departure from the typical regal imagery of other realms. Instead, the city's bustling streets were lined with structures that blended architectural styles, reflecting the coexistence of elves, half-breeds, humans, and changelings who called this place home.
Gone were the strict lines that often separated classes and races. Here, in Zeamore, the streets flowed freely, mingling the notes of myriad cultures. A cacophony of languages, laughter, and music filled the air, while the colorful stalls of artisans, bards, and artificers spilled their creativity onto the cobblestone paths.
The heart of Zeamore beat within its council chambers – a grand building where men of diverse backgrounds came together as stewards of the city's destiny. The council's authority wasn't inherited by birthright but earned through the merit of service and the pursuit of the common good. Their debates and discussions echoed through the streets, a testament to the democracy that underpinned this society.
Amidst the vibrant cityscape, the taverns were like hubs of camaraderie, where tales were spun as bards strummed melodies that resonated with the diverse crowd. Monks walked alongside mages, exchanging knowledge and insights, while artisans showcased their creations – a fusion of cultures that painted the city with its own distinctive hues.
The sense of pride and community that enveloped Zeamore was a double-edged sword. The innovative spirit of the city was palpable, yet it bore the marks of its own struggles. The influx of refugees from neighboring lands had brought cultural shock and challenges, as the city grappled with its identity while extending a welcoming hand to those in need.
Yet, for all its imperfections, Zeamore's streets remained free of the tensions that often brewed into civil conflicts. The diversity that defined the city was its strength, fostering a sense of understanding and unity that transcended the divisions found elsewhere.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow upon the city, I couldn't help but feel a deep resonance with Zeamore. This was a place where change was not just embraced but nurtured – a beacon of innovation. Adren made an offer that broke my engulfed mindset in the moment, "How about we take a break? There's a tavern in town where we can rest and talk. We've got a lot to figure out, it seems."
We made our way through the bustling streets of Zeomore, a town that had taken on a new light for me – a place where my perspective had shifted. As we entered the tavern, Adren and I found a table in the corner, away from the hubbub. Sitting there, nursing a drink, I paid my mind towards a satyr and changeling duet:
Jacque and Jenn dancing through the glen–
It's not a matter of how, it's a matter of when!
Jacque and Jenn play all day and wander into a faerie den.
Jacque and Jenn in the faerun clucking like hens.
Two children never to be seen again.
Child, run and hide!
Take care in your stride.
Faerie rings and fire though they offer all your heart desire
Taste not their drink and eat not their treats,
for you'll never escape their faerie feast!
Jenn turned back a second too late,
There caught her eye with some faerie cake.
She sat in the circle and ate like a beast.
She'd taken the first seat at the feast.
Jenn tried to move but could not leave,
not till the cake was gone and her plate was clean.
Jenn ate all day and ate all night,
but her gluttony always left just one more bite.
Child, run and hide!
Take care in your stride.
Faerie rings and fire though they offer all your heart desire
Taste not their drink and eat not their treats,
for you'll never escape their faerie feast!
Jacque lays by a pool thirsty and drinks,
Liquid ambrosia; it was so sweet.
He drank more, yet his thirst could not be quenched,
He tossed himself in the pool, but only got drenched.
Try as he might and try as he may even breathing it left him in dismay.
Drowning in sugar he'd die without care,
Now with a chest of sugar instead of air.
Jacque and Jenn playing alone in the glen, it wasn't a matter of how,
just a matter of when.
Jacque and Jenn once now but now then.
Jacque and Jenn in the faerun wild,
each waiting to dine with another child.
They put on quite a show, the changeling taking forms of the characters within their fairytale whereas the satyr knew how to hype and charm with dangerous bladework. When their performance was done, they pulled a spawn from behind the curtains who had been in charge of their prop design. Hand in hand, they bowed together and the audience roared in delight.
“That, my dear friend, is the finest artisans in all of Zeomore: Hero, Drole and Vigil. Their wit, skill and charisma is unmatched.” My paladin acquaintance would lean close to my ear
“They’re tough.” I complimented in awe.
“You could say that.”
Despite his warnings of not wanting to draw attention, he would wave them over towards us. I’d already suspected they were acquainted since he knew them by first name basis. We practically towered over them in comparison, which I found amusing considering they were giving my new companion a hard time.
“You brought a shifter into the city?” Vigil would speak as if I wasn’t present.
“The last one I suspected to give a comment on backgrounds is you, Vigil.” His changeling friend would backhandedly comment before Adren could defend himself.
“By the gods, you’re no saint either, Hero.”
“I hardly see how this is progressive.” The satyr who I’d assume to be Drole, the shortest out of this entire party held his arms between them. He’d lower them when they had space but the two shared glares whenever his back was turned. “It should be common sense he wouldn’t bring anyone within these walls should he be a proven threat. If Sir Hallowstrike trusts him, then so will I.”
“Thank you?” I spoke inquisitively, not entirely sure if it should be taken as a compliment. I did have a history of violence with no real motivation besides instruction so it added up as to why they should be hesitant but I can’t say their behaviors weren’t odd.
“He’s not like the other barbarians. He’s got a head on his shoulders and his aid is the best outlet we have for the Resistance.”
“Thought I was lying low?” I quickly retorted towards the paladin.
“Yes, you’ll be our bloodhound.” Adren revealed his plan to me, which earned a nod and understanding grunt, “You know your fellow men better than any of us.”
“Why exactly would I do that, blondie?”
His damn smile would cross his lips again, “You don’t have anyone else on your side and you already came inside Zeamore. You’re not blind. Even amateur spellcasters could see your naivety.”
I’d grimace in annoyance, “I’m not a fool.”
“Not anymore, friend.”
“So what if I’ve betrayed my home, Zeamore isn’t my only option for refuge.”
He’d pat my shoulder and I’d roll off his hand defensively.
“Mayhaps, I won’t stop you if you make your way out but do tell me who you plan to talk to? I don’t believe Pikiriris is on good terms with the other kingdoms.”
“You’re insufferable.” I’d hiss through my teeth, “Fine. I’ll be a part of your silly rebellion.”