The Northern Wars

OLENOR, AHGLOR

Autumn, 1E78

Niko planted seeds in a series of clumps after the first frost of Winter in early Spring with the help of his father, Robin. Each of the fifteen cannabis patches they planted consisted of between five to ten clumps of anywhere from twenty to fifty sprouting plants. They would check their crop later in the Summer for males, uprooting them where they would pollinate the crop if left unchecked. Once the males were all removed from the ground and disposed of, there were fifteen patches and a good number of clumps with anywhere from seven to forty plants, though the reduction of males had significantly lowered the amount of crops in some clumps more than others. Of all the weed that they had in the hilly woodlands of their home, it was all doing exceptionally well and the stalks were all thick with bud. They would harvest several kilograms from their plants, Robin told his maturing son- the excess of which they would take to the elves in Autumn. Once again Niko excitedly pleaded with his father to let him make the trip to Aenor that year, and Robin told him that they would see.

"You're still just a boy, dear lad! Don't rush your childhood away just yet- the world can be a harsh and cold place. Cherish the security of childhood whilst you have it!" Robin laughed.

"Soon enough I'll be a man! In another cycle I'll be hunting for myself and seeing the world with my own eyes wherever my travels take me, just as they take you on your journeys!" Niko rebutted excitedly.

"As true as that is, I hope you're equally as eager to earn your manhood on your first hunt as you are to see the world! A man has to be able to provide for himself, at the end of it all." Robin responded.

Finally the time had come upon them; the crop was ready and they began to harvest the entirety of their fields. The yield was better than any they’d had before, and it was a great year indeed for their crop. The bud was of particularly good quality over last year’s harvest and Robin congratulated his son who was seemingly a natural hemp farmer. Niko didn’t even acknowledge his father’s compliments as the only thing on his mind was making the annual southern trip for himself and of experiencing the outside world for the first time in his young life. Robin was afraid to let his son go out into the world for fear of losing the lad like he did Marta, his deceased wife and the mother of his precious son. He didn’t want to disappoint Niko either, however, inevitably giving in to the lad amd offering him some adventurer’s advice before leaving on his travels. The boy thanked his father for everything and then took their dried product and threw several pounds of the stuff into the pack that he would take into the Aryan Forest in Aenor to trade with the elves for the absinthe of their land.

Robin waved a final goodbye to his son as Niko trotted gaily down the road towards Avon on the same path taken on his own journeys South. His father allowed him a week to take the journey at his own leisure and a couple days of leeway to sight-see, though Robin asked that his son not get too distracted by the sights and wonderment. Telling Niko to make his way to Calais after staying the night in a tavern, his father made sure to give him enough coin to take care of himself on his travels. Giving his son instructions to seek out his friend, Edwin, in Calais, Robin made sure that Niko had the address memorised before allowing his only son to take off. Edwin would take care of the young lad and guide him on his first trip to the elven lands in the East in exchange for his own fair share of the herb that Niko carried. The trip was safe enough and Robin’s old friend would keep the boy out of trouble on his easterly course, but regardless Robin still worried for his son- the news was only growing worse out of the South with every passing year.

Though he worried for his son, Robin was anxious for news from the elves, as well as from Edwin- Legion seemed on the brink of collapse and the elvish lands of the East were threatened by unknown terrors of the night. He asked Niko to bring back news what news he could gather and that was all he could do as he sat there smoking a bowl of some fresh weed. Niko was already underway on his adventure and Robin wondered what his son would think of the outside world. The bud still tasted green and Robin decided that he would wait until the rest of the stuff was dry before he partook again. It would still be a few more days before the cannabis was dry enough to smoke and a couple of weeks yet before it was cured. It was early Autumn in Ahglor and the weather was cold and rainy, though in the fair-weathered Kingdom of Legion one would be hard-pressed to tell the difference in seasons where the climate was always temperate.

It rained long and hard in the colder season in the North and Robin spent the majority of his time in the tent. There was no more weed to grow and his son was gone on his travels; the passing days were slow and Robin found himself sitting around, waiting for the weed to dry out just enough to smoke so that he would have something to preoccupy his thoughts. It was dull in the North; when he wasn’t hunting or growing weed Robin spent his time eating, drinking, smoking, and laughing with Niko, but with his son gone he found himself alone with nothing to do. His nearest neighbours were miles away and his friends would all be busy with their own lives; he had no option but to stay at home in the tent with all of the weed he harvested only a week before. Finally the lonely stoner gave in to his most basic desire and lit the bowl, puffing hard at the sticky green herb until it shriveled up and turned to ash and that was the end of it.

Niko walked down the dirt trail that led south into Avon town and admired the day that was unfolding before him in forested hills of the North. The land grew gradually smoother as Niko made his way nearer to the Ahglorian border and after a while of walking through the thick fir woods they finally let up and the land was relatively flat and sparsely populated by the evergreens of the North. By early dusk Avon was in plain sight directly ahead and Niko made directly for the friendly town and all fatigue washed away from him as he ran to the tavern’s call; his weary feet sought rest after long hours of trekking through the rough terrain of his homeland. It was already dark, the days shorter due to the Autumn sun, and Niko continued to push himself eagerly to the radiant orb of light that was Avon in the distant night. He could not judge distance in the dark, though Niko knew it couldn’t be much further before he could rest in a cosy tavern before continuing on his travels in the early morning.

Just outside the small border-town the young Ahglorian spotted a strange building that looked like some sort of lone guard outpost and there was a small queue of people waiting to pass through to get into Avon. Niko joined the line- somewhat confused as his father had never mentioned or explained this strange custom to him. The other people in line were likewise perplexed and agitated and the strange construction was clearly a new development in the town. There were golden-haired men in shining armour that Niko recognised to be Legionnaires from the description Robin had given his son of those people. They spoke in heavy accents and their words seemed to rhyme in a ridiculous fashion. They questioned the townsfolk in Legion and in the common tongue, though they refused to speak the native language of the land and offered no translators. Niko asked what was going on and one of the townsfolk present in the line explained to him that it was a checkpoint of the King.

“The King erected these recently; they are toll booths- checkpoints where we are forced to explain our business in the King’s Country to the soldiers of the watch. There we are ordered to declare all belongings and pay the tax on taxable items at the checkpoint to and from the border.” an Ahglorian townsman said.

“What are taxable items?” Niko rebutted inquiringly.

“What are taxable items? Everything- you must declare all of your belongs and pay the net worth of your person. Even if you approached the border naked you'd still have to pay for your person- though they'd arrest you for indecency before you could.” the Ahglorian replied, though before Niko could question any further they were sharply interrupted by an imperial guard.

“That’s enough talking, keep the line moving peasants.” the heavily accented and silver-plated soldier said in the Common Tongue.

The chatter died down around them and Niko continued to nervously advance in the line until it was his turn at the checkpoint. When he was inevitably questioned of his business in the Southern lands, Niko replied that he was on his way to visit an old family friend in Legion, though before he could elaborate any further the soldiers examining his baggage shouted out to one another as one brandished the sack of Robin’s weed from within his son’s pack. A soldier grabbed Niko and shoved him to the side whilst others gathered the contents. Even during all of this the line continued to move forward ceaselessly as the peasants stated their business unhesitatingly to the foreign guards of the border. Niko was dragged along and thrown in with an assortment of petty criminals. Some were there for theft and others for smuggling, as was Niko. They’d all been arrested that day and there were half a dozen of them under strict watch by the King’s guard. There was no talking permitted amongst the gang and the soldiers kicked and spat upon the criminals whenever an infraction or sound was made by the lowly outlaws.

“Ah, the caravan has finally arrived! Load the prisoners quickly now lads, we don’t want any mishaps!” the imperial captain said to his men, who busied themselves about loading the prisoners into the caged wagons that would transport them to the royal prison in the dungeons beneath Castle Dunkirk.

Pierre tossed prisoner after prisoner into the cramped quarters of the prison wagons; they could fit ten prisoners in each cage and there were three wagons there that day. They took the prisoners from the town’s jail and all of the Northerners arrested at the borders that day to be transported to the capitol where they would be tried and imprisoned or hung for their crimes. There was a doubled watch upon this month’s prison transport; the previous caravan had been ambushed and the prisoners were all set free back into the wilds of Ahglor. None of the prison guard survived and only three convicts had been killed in the escape. The townsfolk had been ordered to dig graves for the fallen soldiers; they were buried at rest in the lands to the south of the town and a memorial was erected in the field. The graveyard only seemed to see more Legionnaires pass through the decorative arched gate to be put to rest in the soil’s embrace as the time continued to pass, however, and it soon gained the nickname of Le Lieu Mort- "the dead place" in the Common Tongue.

Five from his own company had been killed in the uprisings since the King sent them North to claim the northern town. He wrote to his brother Jean back in Dunkirk and hoped to rejoin his brother in the safety of Dunkirk’s walls, though he feared for the worst. Even as he concluded the letter with his signature before taking up his shift at the night watch, he reminisced on their time together as imperial guards in the city. At least you're safe in the city, Pierre thought wistfully to himself. He looked back on their training, going about their daily duties as imperial soldiers of the city watch, and spending their downtime at the tavern having drinks and laughing with their comrades. I suppose I did drag him in to this though… hopefully I don’t end up getting both of us killed at the end of it all.

There was a light breeze in the air and it was more than a little chilly so far North to Pierre, who had spent the entirety of his life in the sunny southern farmlands of the Lyons countryside on his family’s farm. He wondered to himself how his parents fared on their farm whilst he was left alone with his thoughts in those restless hours of the night- constantly awaiting some ambush from the Ahglorian tribals who assailed them in the dark of the night from the thick northern tree-line. He tried to keep his mind clear of the distracting thoughts as he kept his eyes open for any early signs of trouble now that the prison convoy was on its way with the fresh shipment of convicts...

Everything went off without a hitch as the prison carts were ambling along the paved Legion highway through the towns of Calais and France, over the River Amstrel and to the bustling city centre of the thriving industrial city, Dunkirk. Pierre watched as the carts rolled off into the horizon and he kept alert for the slightest hint of an enemy attack from the woods that surrounded them to the north. His day so far had been quiet, though Pierre knew from experience that his situation could quickly change at a moment’s notice. He kept himself at the ready for the unexpected and he was prepared for anything at any time; he refused to be taken unawares by the guerilla-tactics of the tribals. After the wagons had safely departed from the town an order was barked by the captain and Pierre’s company returned to their day’s watch duty.

“Another lot of pagan barbarians to be shipped off to the King’s gallows.” one of the soldiers laughed as they split up into patrols.

The people of Dunkirk were a religious lot and many attended the Church of Ordeus, the imperial God of Order, though some prayed to Caius- the Roman God of Indulgence. Pierre was not extremely religious, though he was learned in the teachings of the Imperial Church, as was his brother. They both prayed and worshipped their god as they were taught by their parents, though they never attended church or paid the tithe- the practise being more common in Western Legion. The Northerners, however, were a pagan people who indulged in drugs and hedonism under Hoog, the God of Intoxication, and they were labelled heretics by the Church and considered barbarians by the people of Legion.

There were no churches in the north though they constructed small alters and shrines for their god. King Delaunay IV had already begun planning for construction in the Legion-occupied town of Avon following the imperial acquisition of the border town. Construction workers had been hired from Dunkirk and were preparing for the expedition North with all of their equipment and supplies. It was the King’s intention to convert the beliefs of the Northerners to that of his own people to better integrate them into Legion society. They had no say in the matter and the town was under the reign of the watch-captain until such a time that the town was stabilised and the martial law was lifted.

Niko stood erect in his corner of the cart as it hurtled along the paved Legion highway towards a distant castle on the horizon across the river. He tried to occupy as little space as possible in the cramped quarters of the prison wagon. The other prisoners all stood as straight as they could, or at least tried to, and even after all of their efforts there was still very little breathing space within the crude wooden cart. The convicts spoke amongst themselves of what they feared would come to pass, some sank into brooding silence as they awaited the inevitable sentencing of their alleged crimes. Niko did not like his first trip abroad; he’d left the safety of his home to become a prisoner in foreign lands for crimes he’d been unaware existed. He wanted to call out for help, but he knew that his cries would fall on deaf ears; he hoped his father would come to find out about this and save his only son before it was too late. Niko could only hope, however, and so that’s exactly what he did for the duration of the ride.

The caravan passed under an archway and on the other side Niko’s breath was taken away by the splendour of the Legion high street. Shops, markets, cafés, pubs and taverns lined the main road of the town and the store signs and banners were all colourfully painted and their names were etched in flowing gold script. If Niko were here under any other circumstances he would have been blown away and amazed by the beauty of it all; as it was, he was a convict awaiting trial. He couldn’t see past his impending punishment, whatever it was, and in that cart he felt the hopelessness of it all truly start to sink in. He was a prisoner, kidnapped by a foreign army, and there was no one to help him or call out to for help.

His father was leagues away to the North with no idea of his son’s impending doom. Niko brooded over what his future held in store for him in silence as did most of his fellows. Some wept and others moaned but overall the occupants of the cart reflected on their lives like stone obelisks frozen in time. The townsfolk muttered amongst themselves and spat upon the northern prisoners or threw rotting fruits in their direction as the cart rolled through the town of France. Niko been trapped in that crude wooden cage for two days and one night with his fellow Ahglorian kinsmen as the imperials guided them along towards the crowded streets of the capitol. Once they'd reached the other side of the River Amstrel they were greeted by the Castle Dunkirk where it stood tall and proud as it sneered down upon them menacingly. Niko felt what little hope he had left drain from him immediately.