The Land Of Rohan

Chapter 2: Fall And Ascension

Chapter II of the chronicles of the land of Rohan

Garrick’s Fall

- Caroline’s Liquids and Libations, Einhoren, Del Lagos -

The siege was over as quickly as it had been waged. The city still stood, and everyone was aloft their heads in euphoria for weeks after the debacle. Amidst all the celebration, a lone soldier sat at the bar at Caroline’s, lost in thoughts of toil and wear.

Garrick had been hearing things, and at such troubled times, hearing what wasn’t spoken was not a good sign for a commoner such as himself. He had heard voices in his lonesome, though he was quite certain that he was still sane. More disturbingly, his mind's eye have been plagued with visions of an event that he had not yet seen. Visceral images of slaughter and angry cries of primal yet ancient origins.

At times of grim thoughts, he had frequented the tavern of Caroline's. Why he did so, even he doesn't know. What was certain is that this time, even the ale was not enough to drown his present predicament.

As he was taking a sip of his cider, a hooded man sat next to his seat and signalled to the barkeep for a drink. His blue skin glinted a bit and caught Garrick’s gaze. A dragonkin sat perched on his soldier, seemingly stolid and uncaring.

The hooded Dekan spoke. “No spirits, warrior?”

Garrick turned to the sudden stranger and replied, face as straight as the stone floor they were on. “What’s it to thee, sir?”

The dekan spoke sarcastically: “Heard you’ve been, well, quite predisposed of late.”

The indifference on Garrick’s face evidently changed into suspicious interest as his brows furrowed. “What was that? Who art thou that disturbs my peace?”

The Dekan pulled his hood down. “As trite as I am to say it, I am a friend.”

Garrick spoke, “I don’t have friends from your country. Why do you know of me?”

The hooded Dekan replied, “You were quite the hero during the attack on your fair city’s weathered walls. It was natural for a person such as me to have noticed you.”

Garrick flattened his tone. “Then who art thou? And what do thee know of my predicament.”

As the Dekan was looking at him, lips motionless, Garrick heard the voice in his head once more.“Here. Sound familiar?”

The grizzled soldier sat up from his chair and threatened to draw steel. The Dekan smiled and spoke through his mind again. “Calm down, Human. I shall explain that which your doubts may be twiddling with.”

“I say again, and for the last time, who art thou? Lest my blade be drawn and draw blue blood.” Garrick had raised his voice, but sat down again, eager to have his questions answered.

The dekan spoke aloud again, “Krieger is the name I go about in these times. I am of common blood as you are, of the darkest crimson, if you should know. In your best interest I will continue and I will unnecessarily suggest you listen well.”

“I’ve had my eye on you for a time. I had been delivering you visions and revelations of what may come to pass. Visions of war and bloodshed between mortal and divine, as you may well remember. Let’s just say that I have a stake in what is about to happen in this ostensible peace and prosperity the people of Rohan speak in waves of.”

He took a sip from his stein, waited for Garrick’s response. Having gotten not a word, Krieger continued.

“Part of what you have seen will be made true sooner than you think. You’ve already been witness to the Five’s atrocities. And already you doubt Roha; doubt the alleged Gods of Rohan.”

To that, Garrick retorted: “Why do I even deign to think of my role in thy supposed vision? The Void curse thee, what did I do to make thou trample about in my head? Art thou a devil sent to plagued myself? I am no hero, and I am most certainly no character in thy crafted tales. I have no quarrel with thee, and I wish you to just leave me be.”

Krieger non-chalantly spoke: “You will be, my friend. What I ask of you is simple. All I want you to do is survive. Live until we meet again.” Krieger finished his drink and donned his hood once again. “See you in the battlefield, mighty one.”

The Dekan stood up, turned, and left the tavern doors swinging as he made exit. Garrick was again alone; the questions in his psyche thrice multiplied. He dared not finish his brew, lest it cloud his thoughts ever more.

~0~

Roughly an Imperial Month after Silva’s halted siege of Einhoren city, another phenomenon shook the foundations of not one, but all the cities in Rohan’s Terra.

In an ordinary day like any other, bindstones all over Rohan erupted in hellish red flame. Plebeian and noble alike were wrenched from fireplace and farm, drawn to the inexplicable display of magic. The bindstones were set by pioneers in the previous times to aid in travel across Rohan. Such things were not easily played with, and easily drew attention to themselves in their combustion.

In the scarlet blaze of the bindstones, a figure began to materialize. It was a Dekan, albeit even more draconic than the natural, even the evolved. The face in the flame spoke, its voice crackling with the tongues of fire.

“Rohan! Until when are you willing to let the Five tread on your puny lives? Einhoren survived and you all think you have won.” The fire grew brighter as the mystical monologue continued.

“You are all deceived! Your leaders tell you that all is well, and you celebrate. For now, the Five plot and scheme. But Silva and her brothers will return, and what will you have to show for yourselves? A measly attempt to overthrow a siege lain upon you by the very progenitors of your existence? Gail will gnash you all in his teeth and let Flox stew your remains in his cornucopia of horror!”

The disembodied voice boomed throughout the world:

“None of you are truly fit to stand on the face of Father’s gift to you. Let the Dhan skulk in the shadows. Let the Humans cower behind their walls. Let the Dekan hide beneath the waves. Let the Elves and their bastard offspring crawl up to their trees that will be cast afire. Let the Dark ones disappear into their paltry castles in the sky. All will still feel the brunt of what is coming to pass.”

And then, the voice continued:

“I declare war on every being that breathes. I am Krieger, the last of the Great Dragons. I alone hold the way to unleash retribution against the Five aspirant Gods. I alone survived their Purge. War is upon your world, and I am its horseman. In my coming, the Terra will cry with the torment of the weak. I will strike down those not able to draw blood from friend and foe alike."

“I alone will judge who will be worthy of standing up to the might of the Five. In Rohan, no place is kept for the weak of heart and stomach. Hear my command: spare no one. Or I will not spare you.”

With a final lilt of the flame, the face and the fire disappeared into nothing.

Panic rose in the streets. The people of Rohan had not been privy to an omen as grave as this before. The nation’s governments struggled to keep order in their capitals. Riots broke out in the cities and villages while refugees fled from the tide of violence. Cults emerged as mushrooms on rotten treebark; some venerating the firestarter, some begging for mercy from the Lower Gods. Most denied the authority of their races’ ruling classes. To the people of Rohan, it was not war, it was anarchy.

- Caroline’s Liquids and Libations, Einhoren, Del Lagos -

Garrick had already seen in his mind the horror that was unfolding before him. He remembered his conversation in the same room and seat he was on now. What differed from before was the endless sound of steel and magic and flash colliding wantonly in the open.

“Krieger, you fool,” he said to himself. “The Dragons are dead. Now you’re dragging all of Rohan in thy lust for revenge. But I shall honour thy wish.”

He left Caroline’s, sword and dagger in his hands, shield on his back.

“If I die, Krieger, what will you do then?”