[Fan-Fic] Jormund'allarah, Assassin turned King

Prologue:  The Mark

   Assassin turned Channeler, the man who would come to be called Jormund the Bright was once a contract killer amongst the endless wastelands.  The last job he would ever do under the title of 'Assassin,' was contracted by a mysterious man who happened across Jormund's Inn.  The request was strange. 
   The client sought a man who'd taken shelter in an abandoned homestead.  The request consisted of returning a stone that the man was carrying.
   "It is imperative that you find this stone," he said.
   "Uh-huh.  Look, my fee-" Jormund could not finish his sentence before a large purse of gold was dropped to the table.
   150 coins, at least.  He counted with his ears as the coins settled inside the purse.
   "Not a problem I see.  Then it's settled, I'll take your job."
   "Our business is settled then."
   "Not so fast old-timer.  Is there a time-sensitivity issue here?"
   The man was silent for a moment, though only a moment.
   "Yes," he replied in a rather dire tone.
   Jormund furrowed his brow.  "Fine then."  He picked up the purse.  "I'll be on my way then.  It should take me two days to return with the item you seek."
   "Very well," replied the man.
   Jormund left the Inn, feeling strange about the encounter.  It hadn't been the first time a client had tried to hide their identity, but this was the first time any of them had succeeded.
   Most clients wore cloaks like the old man had, but most of them couldn't help but fidget and look around, worried and agitated.  Jormund was always able to catch a glimpse of their faces when they did this.  But this client...  He was obviously a hard man.  He'd either done this before, or spilled blood himself.
   As curious as he was about the old timer, he set his curiosity aside and focused on the task at hand.  In his part of the wastes, weapons were hard to come by.  He had one of the only Daggers for leagues around, and what few people that did have weapons usually had clubs or staves.  Nothing Jormund couldn't handle, but he let the thought cross his mind that his mark would be better prepared.
   Not a full days walk later, Jormund had found the homestead the man had marked on his map.  Night had fallen deep by now.  It was likely to be an easy kill.  The man was on the run.  He'd likely be exhausted from paranoia, already asleep by this hour.  Jormund yawned at the mere thought of sleep.
   "Gotta get this done," he thought to himself as he crept up to the homestead.  He checked the hinges on the door.  Rusty.  He decided to find a quieter way in.  Traversing to the side of the house, he found a broken window with most of the glass already missing.  He carefully climbed up, and dropped onto the wooden floor with a soft thud.  Quickly checking his surroundings, he saw the man wasn't in this room.
   Continuing his search into the main foyer, he saw a light streaming out from behind a closed door.  It flickered wildly.
   "That's not right," he thought to himself, "I would've noticed smoke rising from the chimney..."  He checked the hinges of the second door.  Rusty.
   "Ah damnit all to hell...  Oh well."  He tried opening the door slowly at first.  Before even getting it open an inch, he realized that would make far too much noise.  He swung the door open, holding the handle to stop it when it was wide enough for him to fit through.  It made quite a racket, but the quick noise hadn't woken the man, which he could see sleeping by the fire now.
   He crept in slowly, quietly.  Until the floorboards broke, causing him to lose his footing.
   "Damn," he exclaimed, as the man sat bolt upright, spinning around to meet eyes with Jormund, dagger drawn.
   The man grabbed his staff from it's place next to the fireplace and took his feet, leaping at Jormund with a wild swing of his weapon.  Even from his precarious spot, Jormund was able to guide the mans attack with his free hand, driving the dagger deep into his throat.
   "Sorry man, just business."
   The man gurgled something unintelligible before passing, slumping to the floor, the stone Jormund sought falling lazily out of the inner pocket of his cloak.
   "Ah-ha, got'cha."  Jormund pried his foot loose from the floor, kneeling to pick up the stone.
   Upon touching it, a cadre of images flashed through his mind.  Images of the wastelands, but different somehow.  Images of...  Trees.  Trees in full bloom, and grass, and fruit orchards, fields of grain, animals...  Images of war, death and destruction.  Images of...  Life itself.  Images of things that shouldn't be able to exist in this barren wasteland.
   Jormund awoke several hours later.  Dawn was breaking.  He tried to gain his bearings, when panic struck him.
   "The stone!"  He sat upright, looking around him, seeing nothing.  Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he tried to recall what had happened.  He'd found the man...  Killed him...  And he'd dropped the stone...  Right...
   Jormunds eyes popped open and trained themselves on the last position of the stone.  Nothing.  He looked around the room.  The corpse was still there...  There were no other signs of entry...  The fire was nothing but ash.
   He looked again at where the stone should be.  Something glinted in the breaking light.  Almost like a gem.  He leaned in closer on the spot, and managed to inhale a lung-full of dust.  The stone had disintegrated.
   "Well isn't that just lovely."  He stood up and brushed himself off.  His coin purse was still attached at his hip, alongside the old mans.  "Damnit, guess there's nothing for it but a refund..."  He left the house and began the trek back to the inn at a rushed pace.
   He arrived just before sunset, but the old man was nowhere to be found.  Stepping up to the rotting bar, he asked the Innkeeper if he'd seen him.
   "Yeah Jorm, I saw him.  After you left, he had a guy wait outside.  When he came back in, heard him say that you were out of sight, then they left."
   "They just left?  You're kidding me, right?"
   "Naw, naw, just up an' left.  Whatever deal you made with him, he must'a been sure you'd fill your end."
   Jormund sighed.  That was just it.  He -hadn't- filled his end...  More concerning though, was that the man never waited in the first place...  Why would he just leave if he wanted the stone?  Unless he didn't actually want it...  Then, why...
   Jormund shook his head, frustrated with the puzzle that had been placed before him.  "I'm gonna take a walk Rik.  If anyone comes lookin' for me...  I'm not here, unless they look like business, or a mark."
   "Got'cha Jorm."
   He stepped out into the wastelands.  The sun had set, and the light was waning.  Jormund couldn't help but wonder what the old mans game was.  Recalling the kill, images swirled through his head again, slower than when he'd touched the stone, but the same images kept replaying themselves over and over in his mind.  Images of a wasteland turned lush, of animals frolicking and crops growing, of people rejoicing and of him...
   Jormund shook his head again.  No, no, that can't be right.  He ignored the image and continued sifting through them.  Images of peace and happiness, images of war waged on burning grasslands, and in lands more dead than the wastes themselves.  Images of him-...
   "No.  Noooo, no-no-no...  Nuh-uh, no way, no how.  Not in a million years, not before the next cataclysm.  Not until the Titans return and kill us all..."
   What he was seeing now was him, leading these armies to war, signing documents of some kind with other people, loving a woman and bearing children.
   He examined the images again in his mind, recalling them in the same detail he'd seen them in that night.  Images of monuments with his face on them, of people praising him, of him-.
   "Wait, WHAT!?"
   Images of him throwing Fireballs and conjuring creatures to appear from thin air.
   He stood there in silent shock, replaying the images over and over again in his mind, by his will this time, examining every detail, scrutinizing every inconsistency.  Lush land?  There hadn't been any truly living lands in a century.  Animals?  Not unless they're Skath-cats or Slags.  He kept trying to deny every image, but something deep inside him knew them to be true, if not yet, then soon.
   That feeling compelled him somehow, urged him to keep walking, to keep moving forward to lands unknown, for reasons he couldn't understand, wouldn't understand.  He walked until he could walk no more, and slept under the stars, waking again and walking, heading north, for no reason other than it felt right somehow.  It would be quite some time before he reached his destination.

Chapter I:  The Northlands

   And thus, his journey began.  It would be fraught with danger and peril, but in the end, it had the potential to be something amazing.
   He traveled for many days and nights, unsure of where he was going.  Without food or water, and with Inn's being few and far between, Jormund's survival skills were pushed to their limits.  It didn't help that he'd dropped his dagger the night he'd found the stone.
   His clothes had become torn and shredded, and were no longer sufficient protection against the harsh elements of the wastes.  Stopping at an Inn, he was fortunate in that the Innkeeper had a set of clothing he never wore, and commonly kept extra cloaks for travelers to buy...  Or take, if their need was desperate enough.
   The coins he'd brought with him were running out.  Two weeks of buying supplies had nearly drained his wallet, and he could only offer the Innkeeper a mere pittance for his wares.
   "Bah, don't worry about it son.  You obviously need them, and besides, I'd never get them sold otherwise."
   He left to grab the clothes, and returned.  A bright orange shirt and vest, with a black great-coat.  No wonder he hadn't been able to sell them.
   "Uhh, thanks, I guess," Jormund said tentatively.
   "Yeaaah, I know they're a little gaudy, but they're sturdy, and sure to keep you protected in any weather.  I wore these in my younger days, when I was an adventurer like yourself."
   "I'm not an adventurer."
   "You could'a fooled me, this far out into the wastes, by yourself, with nothing but the clothes on your back...  Usually how most adventurers end up living these days."
   He paid for the clothes and supplies he'd purchased with the last of his remaining gold, and set out once more.  Wherever he was going, he'd better get their soon.  He only had enough rations to last a week.
   Stepping outside the Inn, he looked to the North.  Snow-capped mountains and the smell of the ocean awaited him there.  He couldn't understand why this feeling would send him into a place possibly worse than even the wastes.  The Wastes had spots of fertile soil here and there, even the occasional field, but any of that would be hidden beneath the snow of the Northlands.
   Four more days he traveled, treading through the wastes, and then knee deep snow.  He'd known the importance a good, strong boot long before he'd been old enough to wield a dagger, but even these boots did not ride high enough to keep the snow out.  Often he would stop to pour out the snow, and then continue his journey.
   On the morning of the fifth day, he noticed something peculiar.  A man, leading a Wagon and an Ass, bells jingling as they trudged through the snow.  Even more odd, they weren't actually trudging through the snow, but rather following a road.  He ignored the crazy man and his wagon, and continued deeper into the Northlands, following the road to save his feet from frostbite.
   Eventually, his compulsion took him off the road again.  He grimmaced at the thought, and began to question why he was even doing this.  It was surely a death sentence, and a fools errand.  Three more days he traveled, running out of food and supplies, until his compulsion would take him no further.  Exhausted, he laid down in the snow, covering himself with some to help keep him warm, and prepared for his inevitable death.
   He awoke many hours later, cold, tired, and possibly frostbitten, but not dead.  He was also very hungry, as his stomach seemed intent on reminding him.  He passed an Inn, but dared not go in, recognizing the look of armed mercenaries outside the establishment, and knowing he would be turned away, or possibly even killed, for begging.  He wondered then why it mattered, he was going to die anyway.
   On the third day without rations, what might very well be his last day alive, his compulsion ceased to guide him anymore.  Rather, it ran him in small circles around the same area.  He stopped and looked around, but saw nothing...  At first.
   Finally, it caught his eye, the glint of ice somehow drawing his attention.  He trudged over to the area, and that's when he saw it.  He dug through the snow at a maddening pace, revealing what was hidden beneath the ice.
   A frozen field, perfectly kept.  Neither rot nor age would have touched this Fertile Land, encased in ice as it was.  Somehow, it had been flash-frozen.  While Jormund wanted to ponder how, he couldn't muster up the energy.  Unfortunately, this amazing find couldn't possibly help him.  Any food within would be broken if he tried to peel away the ice.  He was still going to die.
   He felt warm then.  He'd heard that when you begin to die of hypothermia, your senses become confused, and rather than feeling like you're freezing, you begin feeling warm and fuzzy.  This is how he felt now.  Sure he was going to die, he stood there and waited for the end.
   But the warmth did not stop.  It grew, and soon Jormund was sweating, burning up beneath the warm greatcoat he'd bought.  Too hot to think, he removed the greatcoat, and began to wonder what was going on.
   Feeling he was losing his sanity, he took off his vest and boots as well.  He was dripping sweat after only a few minutes, even in this frozen tundra, and cooling his feet seemed like a great thing to do at this point.  Finally, he stripped his boots off, and what he felt would change how he viewed the world forever.
   There was not snow beneath his feet, nor ice, nor even dirt.  The snow had melted, and given way to a small patch of grass directly beneath him, wet with the water produced from the melting snow.  That's when he noticed it, the snow around him melting, a perfect circle, ever-widening, ever-growing.  And every bit of land that was revealed was revealed to be dirt, but only for a moment, before grass sprouted up from beneath, as if it had been hiding, waiting for him to arrive.
   The Fertile Lands eventually thawed, and the plants slowly breathed in life, standing tall and strong, as if woken from a deep, relaxing, restful sleep.  The area continue to thaw, until finally, it stopped, leaving a 20 foot radius around Jormund full of life and wonder.
   He couldn't believe his eyes.  He was sure he was dead at this point.  He slapped himself.  It still hurt.  If he'd truly died, and by some miracle, gone to Heaven or any place resembling it, he wouldn't be able to feel pain.  He looked around to see if a demon was playing a trick on him then, since Hell was the more likely of the places he would end up.  No demons, no animals, no nothing, except a ring of grass, and a perfect patch of fertile ground.
   That's when he noticed, in the distance, at the edge of the ring, sat a tent.  Previously hidden in a snow-drift, whatever was going on had thawed out the tent, and Jormund felt compelled to enter.

   And so he did.  Within the tent was a ration of fresh food, and water.  Like a starving animal, he literally lept onto the the portions, eating full and drinking fast.  So full and so fast, that he choked on the food and drink for a moment, before finally forcing it down and devouring the rest.
   It was something his exhausted and starved body couldn't handle.  He threw up a large portion of what he'd ate, his shrunken stomach unable to hold the whole contents.  Stumbling out of the tent, he began passing out.  As he was falling to the ground, he remembered thinking to himself...
   "Worth it."
   He awoke early the next day, hungry again, but satisfied regardless.  Despite his growling stomach, he knew he'd survive another day at least.  Opening his eyes, he yelled in surprise.  So to, did the small boy standing over him.
   "Who're you," Jormund queried.
   "I-I-I'm Nalre, but my friends just call me Nal."
   Jormund could see the boy was frightened by the yell.  Agitated from waking up in such odd fashion, he attempted to set his questions aside and collect useful information.
   "Am I dead?"
   "Dead, sir?"  The boy giggled.  "No sir, you're in the Northlands.  At least I think it's the Northlands.  Never seen any green stuff like this in the Northlands, except maybe on the pines."
   "Pines?"
   "Pine trees sir.  You're not from around here, are you?"
   Jormund deflected.  "Why are you here?"
   "Well, I saw all this green stuff and got curious.  I was afraid maybe 'twas faeries at first, but I knew my parents just told me those story to make me behave."
   Jormund observed his surroundings more closely.  "I wouldn't be so sure kid."
   The boy began rambling on about how he was sure it was just a tall tale, and other things about imaginary creatures and stories of myth, but Jormund was too busy to listen.  He looked around, pondering what it was that had happened to this spot of land.
   "You should come with me sir.  I can show you to my parents and prove once and for all that Faeries aren't real."
   This caught Jormund's ear and caused him to furrow his brow.  He had no time for such childish games.  His stomach rumbled audibly.
   "We could give you some food too sir."
   "Food?"  Jormund was paying full attention now.  "Where do you live?"
   "My Da runs the Inn over yonder.  You surely must have passed it to get here, if you didn't just appear here that is."
   "The Inn?  Kid, you got a lot to learn about the world.  Your folks wouldn't feed me, I saw those Mercenaries."
   "That's just because of the bandits.  Some thugs were trying to get my parents to give them gold for some reason, so they hired some travelers to look tough and scary, drive the bandits away."
   "Did it work?"
   "It's been months since we've had any trouble.  Come on, it's okay, they love company."
   He followed the boy to the Inn, and they were greeted outside by the would-be thugs, all more than happy to meet the new arrival.
   "See?  Told ya they were nice."
   "Yeah, yeah, you told me, I get it."  Jormund locked eyes with a woman standing round the bend of the house.  He was surprised to see her leap out towards him and the boy, shouting at them to stop.
   The red-headed woman blocked Jormund's path, her brow furrowed, looking concerned.
   "Not so fast guy.  What's yer business here?"
   "Nabaja, it's alright, he's just-"
   "I don' wanna hear it Nal.  Go inside, tell your parents I need them out here, now.  Boys."
   The would-be thugs stood up, doing their best to look tough and menacing...  And succeeding.
   "Look, Nabaja was it?  I'm not here to cause trouble, I ju-"
   "Shut it Blood."  The title?  Why would she use the Assassin's trade-name?  Unless.
   It dawned upon Jormund at that moment that he was squaring off with an Assassin, another member of his trade.  Or maybe his former trade.  He hadn't decided yet.
   Nabaja's features were angular, a subtle elegance to them.  The red hair was well kept, much better than anyone from Jormund's part of the wastes.  Her body was...  Astounding.  Beautiful and athletic, this woman had clearly honed every asset she had for her trade.  Jormund took a note to be careful around her.  Especially considering the spear in her hand was pointed in his direction now.
   "Seriously.  I'm not tracking Nabaja.  I'm just looking for food."
   "Stow it Blood.  We don't take your kind here, and we certainly don't help your kind."
   "Then why is it you're here," Jormund replied.
   The tip of her spear was touching his chin now.  She pressed it in just hard enough to make blood trickle down the handle.
   "I don't take that name anymore, Blood, but I still have the skills.  You'd do well to walk away now and go back to wherever you came from."
   In a deft movement, Jormund grabbed the spear and pulled her in close.  Their noses nearly touching, Jormund looked her square in the eye.
   "I'm.  Not.  Hunting.  Nor am I still plying my trade.  I don't even know why I'm here.  What I do know, is I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, and I'm so damn tired.  I just want food and a bed to sleep in."
   It was then that Nal's parents decided to step out.  Nal's mother gasped and ran back inside.  His father stood there, watching with morbid curiosity.
   "I don't give a damn Blood, now leave."
   "Nabaja Trin," the father exclaimed, "Don't forget, you once wore that title and wore it proudly as well, and we took you in despite our mistrust.  You would do well to offer the traveler the same courtesy."
   Nabaja growled, but eventually relaxed her grip on the spear, making Jormund feel comfortable enough to let it go.
   "I'm watching you Blood."
   The father shook his head at Nabaja.  "Sorry about her.  They call me Re.  What can I do for ya?"
   "I don't mean to beg...  Well, I do, but it brings me no pride..."  Jormund's eyes drifted off the mans face.
   "It's fine boy.  We've got plenty of food, believe it or not.  A smuggler ships it here from the Empire of Resoln every so often."
   "The what?"
   "Heh, you're not from around these parts I see..."
   "Yeah, your boy said the same."
   Re chuckled.  "Yes, he came in spouting that he could prove faeries weren't real, and that you were the proof.  Rambling some nonsense about green stuff on the ground, like pine needles except soft."
   "Grass."
   Re stopped in his tracks then.  And turned to look Jormund square in the eyes.
   "What'd you say?"
   "...Grass?  That's...  Uh...  What he saw...  I mean, that's what it sounds like he saw."
   Re gave Jormund a dirty look.  "You ain't been puttin' any ideas into my boys head, now have ya?"
   Odd as it may seem, Jormund was never a very good liar.  He was a good killer, a decent tactician even, but never a good liar.
   He mustered up all his nerve to try to make this lie sound convincing.
   "No sir."
   It wasn't technically a lie, Jormund thought to himself.  He couldn't help it that there was grass all over the place out there, and that the snow had mysteriously thawed and melted, and that Nal had found him laying in the middle of it...  He wasn't convincing himself, and he strained to maintain a calm expression.
   Re finally turned away.  "Good.  You ain't his Ma or Da, so you shouldn't be puttin' ideas into the boys head.  Sorry if I was forward, but that's the way we do things up here."
   "It's okay."  He finally exhaled.
   "What's yer name son?"
   "Jormund'allarah.  Jormund for short."
   "Jormund.  That's a southerners name.  Where ya from?"
   "Southern Wastes."
   "Yeah, but whereabouts?"
   Jormund was confused.  "What do you mean?  It's the Southern Wastes.  There's nothing down there."
   "Ah, so yer from that part of the south."  Jormund furrowed his brow at the comment, but Re waved it off.  "Lemme get ya some grub son.  It's nothin' special, but for a guy lookin' as starved as you, it'll be a real treat."
   He came back with the food and Jormund couldn't help but leap at it once more.  He ate his fill, had a good beer for the first time in what felt like ages, and slept in a bed with real sheets.  The sleep was the worst part.  He was plagued all the night by visions.  Waking in a fright just before dawn, he left his room to relieve himself, when he heard Nabaja and Re talking in the dining hall.
   "I don't trust him Re."
   "Nonsense Nabaja, he's a good enough man.  He's fed, rested, and he'll be out of our hair in a few mer hours."
   "Re, I'm tellin' you, somethin' ain't right about this one."
   "I've had enough Nabaja.  I understand why you wanna protect us, but yer paranoia's just too much missy."
   "It's not paranoia Re, it's..."  She sighed.  "It's just, somethin' don't feel right about this guy.  Somethin's...  Different about him.  I know he's a Blood an' all, I could tell that from a mile off, but that's not it.  There's somethin' else.  Somethin'...  I dunno, I just don't like it, okay?"
   "Nabaja..."  Re sighed now.  "Nabaja, thank you for yer concern, but he'll be outta our hair soon, and we won't have'ta worry 'bout it anymore.  There's no reason fer ya to go killin' the poor fella."
   Jormund laughed under his breath.  Assassin is as Assassin does.
   Nabaja stormed out through the front door.  Jormund regained his composure and made himself look especially tired.  He trudged down the steps, eyes half-closed, and pretended to almost not notice Re sitting there.
   "Where's the outhouse?"
   Re pointed him in the right direction, and Jormund went outside, heading around to the side of the house Re pointed to.
   "Not like I'd planned any different, but I guess I'm leaving tomorrow for sure," he thought to himself.  He trudged back up to his room, stripped his boots off, and went back to his fitful sleep.
   He awoke late that morning, looking even less rested than he had before.  The visions were getting more intense.
   Sitting at the bar, Re offered him some water, which Jormund gladly took and sipped at.
   "So, ya plannin' on stayin' long Jormund?"
   "Oh, oh, no no no, I, uh, I gotta, ya know, get back."
   "To the South."
   "Uhh," Jormund struggled to say, as he knew he was about to lie again, "Yeah, back, uhh, back home."
   "Well, it's been nice having ya son.  Stop by sometime."
   "Yeah, I'll be sure to do that."  Easiest lie he'd ever told, he thought to himself.
   He exited the Inn and started heading back towards the field.  His compulsion was back, stronger this time, nearly driving him nuts with its incessant wants.  He couldn't wait to figure this puzzle out and get back home.
   The field was just as he had left it.  Lush, green, and completely out of place.  This was a puzzle that he was not well-suited to solve.

Chapter II:  The Budding Nation

   Jormund padded his away around the field.  What he was looking for, he couldn't be sure, but he knew he was looking for something.  An irregularity, a hot spring, an exceptionally warm patch of ground, anything that might explain what happened here.  After several hours of searching for clues, he gave up.  Exhausted and frustrated, he returned to the tent, and slept.
   The visions hit him harder than ever before now.  They weren't so much visions now, as they were honest dreams.  Dreams of events that, deep down in his heart, he knew would come to fruition.  Events shown in such spectacular detail, that he could not simply wake up from them, nor hope to ignore them.
   In his visions, he saw the same images as when he touched the stone, in greater detail, and slower.  Not flashes of things to come, but full passing days and nights, people speaking and going about their lives, happy and fulfilled.  Images of war, with him at the head of armies, leading them into combat.  Images of him drawing power to him, and using it for purposes both Divine and Abhorrent.  Images of things he couldn't possibly fathom.
   At last, in his dreams, a face appeared before him.  Ethereal and without any solid form, the glowing, transparent eyes seen through the background of a sky were frightening, but calming at the same time.  A mouth formed, and the image spoke to him.
   "You are not alone."
   Jormund sat bolt upright, cold sweat dripping off his hair and face.  He shook his head and dropped his face into his hands, trying desperately to understand what was happening to him.  He wasn't sure how much more of this he could bear.
   "Nightmares huh," a familiar voice queried.  Jormund looked up and threw aside his cloak, ready for a fight.  At the opening of the tent stood Nabaja, silhouetted in the waning moonlight.
   "What do you want?"
   "I wanna know what the hell you did to this place."  She padded into the tent, her spear in hand, her grip on it tight.
   Jormund sighed.  "I didn't do anything.  It was like this when I got here."  He was getting better at lying.
   Not good enough, however.  "Hah, like slag-shit you didn't do anything.  We cut firewood using the Cedar Trees around here.  For years I've been doin' that, and never has this looked like," she looked outside the tent, "That."
   Jormund shook his head.  "I don't know.  I can't explain it.  What I do know is things are happening to me, things beyond my imagining.  And it's rather upsetting."
   As Nabaja began to speak, there was a sound from outside the tent.  Soft padding, soft enough that any who hadn't spent time as an Assassin would've missed it.  Nabaja turned and Jormund went to her side, both of them agitated by the sound.  Their preparation was met by growls.
   "Wolves," Nabaja stated.
   Nabaja raced out of the tent in their general direction, and Jormund followed on impulse.  They chased around the edge of the woods, back into the snowy tundra.
   Finally the wolves stopped and faced their pursuers, sure they couldn't escape.  Jormund had never seen a Wolf before, and mistook them for Brute's at first, his instincts telling them they should retreat.  Nabaja could sense his apprehension.
   "Come on guy, this'll be easy.  If one of 'em leaps on ya, just snap his neck."
   Nabaja approached the wolves, and they snarled ferociously.  Jormund, still feeling apprehensive, felt that warmth welling up from within himself again.  He tried to control it, afraid it would make him look weak, but he could not help it.  The warmth rose to a steady heat, then a boil, and he felt for sure that he would die from whatever disease was driving this.  He wished he could just cast the heat aside.
   And so his wish came true.  Without understanding what it was he was doing, the heat gathered in his hands, and before he knew it, an arrow of flame was headed straight for one of the wolves.
   The wolf yowled, its fur melting to its body and skin charring.  The crack of its skull breaking was masked by the sound of the explosion, not large, but enough to distract the other wolf.  Nabaja, seeing the opportunity, lept into action, driving her spear deep into the back of the wolf's neck.
   When she finally managed to pry the creature from her spear, she turned to Jormund, eyes alight with suspicion, and even a hint of fear.
   "What in the greater Hells was THAT?!"
   Jormund could not reply, could not form words, couldn't even think.  He stood there in silent shock, looking at his hands.  His eyes sung tales of the fear in his heart, for he could not fathom what that was, nor where it came from, or that it had even come from him.
   "Answer me Blood!  What the hell did you just do?!"
   Jormund looked at her then, the fear in his eyes taking her aback.  Jormund could only shake his head, dropping his hands and quivering at the might he'd just displayed.
   Nabaja calmed, realizing that this was just as strange, if not stranger, for him as it was for her.
   "Jormund.  What are you?"
   "I-...  I...  I don't know anymore..."  Jormund fell to his haunches and trembled, shaking his head in disbelief, replaying what Nabaja had just said over and over in his head.  'What the hell did you just do?'
   "Me," he muttered.  "Was that...  Me?"
   "I believe that I can explain," said another familiar voice from the shadows, stepping out into the moonlight.
   Jormund peered up, the fear shaking his bones.  He saw before him the old man from Rik's Tavern.
   His fear abated, and rage welled up inside him.  "YOU!  You did this to me!  You made me a- a- a MONSTER!"  He began striding toward the old man when his lackey appeared behind him.
   Jormund held.  Without his weapon, there was nothing he could do against a man that size.  His scars proved he'd survived many fights as well, not all of them with other Humans.
   "There are dark forces conspiring Jormund'allarah.  They seek to bring an end to the world as we know it.  The devastation of the wastes is nothing compared to what they will do."
   "And why should I believe you," Jormund spat, "Why should I trust you?"
   "Because, you are not a Monster.  You are a Channeler."
   Jormund laughed sarcastically.  "A Channeler?  You're kidding me, right?  That's a fairy tale women tell to their children to make them walk leagues of the endless wastes.  There is no such thing.  A creature of fable."
   "Oh, quite the contrary my friend.  They exist."
   Jormund paused, his brow furrowing.  "They?"
   "Jormund...  You must build a nation, raise armies, and make allies.  Only then can you ever hope to combat the coming darkness."
   Jormund shook his head.  "What makes you think I want to?"
   "You no longer have a choice," the man exclaimed.  "You are a Channeler Jormund.  Not only do you have a duty to bring life back to these lifeless lands, you have a destiny!"
   "No, no I don't," Jormund countered.  "I could just leave right now.  If what you say is true, then if I leave, this area will turn back into Tundra.  I could just hide myself away in the mountains, where no one will ever bother to look for me, and that can be the end of it."
   "You know that isn't true Jormund."  He could feel the mans glare from under his hood.  "You know that if you try to walk away from here, that the feeling, the impulse to return will drive you to come back.  You know you must stay here for now.  And I know that the only way to alleviate that impulse is to bring life back to these lands.  And where there is life in the soil, there will be life in the people."
   Jormund shook his head.  "Your point is moot old man.  I don't even know how to control it.  I can't bring life back to these lands, even if I have the tools necessary."
   The old man chuckled.  "Focus, Jormund.  Return to the tent, and focus your mind.  Concentrate on the image of life, of what you see in that field, and imagine it spreading outwards for as far as the eye can see.  Focus, is all you need."
   The man and his lackey melted into the shadows, and without a second thought, Jormund began storming back towards the tent.
   "H-h-heeey!  Wait a minute," Nabaja exclaimed.  "Hold up!  Who was that?"  She chased after Jormund at his reckless pace.
   "I don't know," he called back.
   "Then why are you listening to him."
   "Because," he retorted.
   "That's not a reason!  Why?"
   Jormund stopped and spun on Nabaja.  "Because, he's the one who started all this."  He resumed his break-neck pace towards the field.
   Nabaja stood there, dumb-founded for a moment.  Jormund was almost out of sight when she finally regained her senses and chased after him, shouting, "What do you mean?!"
   They arrived at the camp, Nabaja out of breath, and Jormund looking around as if he had a mission.  Like any man on a mission, his attention was immune to even Nabaja's feminine charms.  He payed her no mind, in fact, merely telling her to step away from him, as he sat in the middle of the field and began to focus.
   For half an hour he sat, with no results, but still he sat, eyes closed, face mute, concentrating on the images of life and fertility.  Then, same as when he'd cleared the field, he could feel it, the warmth bubbling up inside him.  He focused that warmth outward before it boiled him, willing it to radiate outward.  The snow began to melt at the edges of the field, the grass sprouting once more, and the land beginning to revive, slowly.
   For hours, he sat there, focusing on bringing life to the world around him.  Nabaja had fallen asleep, not noticing any changes.  Dawn broke, and finally Jormund could focus no more, feeling his energy was spent, unable to cause the warmth to grow inside of him.
   Nabaja awoke, and lazily stretched, groaning as she did so.  She spotted Jormund, standing in the center of the field again, looking out towards the inn.  Fear welled up inside her.
   "What did you do now," she queried as she walked over to his side.  Putting her face within inches of his, she made the most menacing look she possibly could, but Jormund paid her no mind, continuing to gaze out towards the inn.
   "Jormund, what di-"  She finally peered in the direction he was looking.  There, for miles before her, was grass.  The nearby Cedar Trees were in full bloom, leaves rustling in the breeze, bugs crawling in the grass, and a field stretching for several miles in every direction.  Awestruck, she stood there, surveying Jormunds work.
   "Wow."
   On the edge of the field, several figures could be seen approaching their position.  Nabaja returned to her resting place and grabbed her spear, ready for a fight, but Jormund disarmed her with a look of satisfaction.
   "They're coming."
   A short while later, Re, his family, and the would-be mercenaries from the Inn were standing before them, as awestruck as Nabaja was.  Except for Nal.
   "I told you I saw green stuff!"

 Chapter III, Part One:  The First Year

   Jormund, Re, and Nabaja sat around a campfire late that night.  Nal and his mother had gone to sleep.  The mercenaries has brought beer from the tavern and conducted a celebration.  For what, Jormund couldn't be sure, but they were happy, and he wasn't going to rain on their parade.  They were asleep now, happy and drunk.
   The mood around the campfire was not so happy, however.  Jormund was sure his lie to Re was about to come back and bite him.  Re himself was staring mindlessly at the fire, what he was thinking no one could guess.  Nabaja could sense Jormunds tension and Re's indifference, and it made her uncomfortable.
   "So," started Re.  Jormund readied himself for the tongue-lashing that was about to come.
   "You're a mage then."
   Jormund furrowed his brow.  "No, I don't think so."  They had discussed how this formerly lifeless land had come to be, that Jormund was the cause of it.  They'd also tried to puzzle out what it all meant, but none of them could reach an answer that satisfied them in the slightest.
   "How aren't you?  Look at this," Re gestured to the land around them.  "Only a mage could do something like this."
   "The old man called me a 'Channeler.'  I don't know what that is, but I do know what a Mage is.  My mother told me stories when I was a child, stories her parents had told her.  Stories of a time when magic flowed freely, and many people could command it.  Stories of the Titans, the Shards, and how the Magic had left the world because of our folly."
   "The Forge," Re stated.
   Jormund nodded.  "If I were a Mage, then I think it stands to reason that I'd be able to use magic my whole life."
   "You couldn't," Re queried.
   Jormund nodded his head.  "No.  Like Nabaja mentioned to you before, I was an Assassin.  I used completely mundane means to kill my marks, nothing like lighting them on fire..."  He thought of the wolf.
   "I see."  Re picked up a nearby stick and poked the fire, sparks flying high into the air.
   "So," Nabaja began, "What now?  You can't honestly believe what the old man said, all that nation business and stuff..."
   "I don't know," Jormund said, "I did this...  Maybe he was right...  Maybe I do have some kind of Destiny."  It sounded absurd just saying it.
   "Well, you gotta have a destiny," Re chimed in.  "He was right 'bout the...  'Channeler' thing, wasn't he?  If he was right 'bout that..."
   Jormund's head sank.  "I know."
   Nabaja stood up.  "Well, whatever's goin' on, there's no sense tryin' to figure it out right this second.  We should get some sleep and think on it more tomorrow."
   Re stood up, nodded, and approached his family.  Nabaja went to sleep by the mercenaries.  Jormund looked into the fire, remembering the wolf again.  He replayed the event over and over in his mind, conjuring flame, and directing it.  It scared him just to think about it, but he stomached it and examined every detail.  The Warmth, the oppressive feeling of dying, wanting to let it loose, cast it aside...
   He shook his head and went to the tent.  His tent, he thought now.  Using his cloak as a blanket, he reluctantly drifted off to sleep.
   It was the most restful sleep he'd get in quite some time.

   Several days passed without any exciting events happening.  Re and his family went back to the tavern, most of the mercenaries accompanying him.  Nabaja and a man she called Marz stayed with Jormund, exploring the wonders of the field and trying to sort out what could be going on.  Marz was entirely unhelpful in this endeavor.
   On the fourth dawn, Jormund awoke with a start.  Re was shaking him, begging him in an urging tone to wake up.  He had a sword in hand.
   "Jormund, we've got trouble."
   Jormund got up and replaced his cloak on his shoulders.  "What's wrong?"
   "There're people, a bunch of 'em.  They're comin' here, and they've got...  Well, I guess they'd be tools...  Sharp-lookin' tools."
   Within half an hour, the people reached Jormunds camp.  Hoe's, pitchforks, shovels and other implements in hand.  Their leader came to the front.
   "Which one o' ya is Jormand?"
   "It's Jormund," he said as he came to face the man.  He willed the Warmth to begin bubbling up inside him, ready to defend himself, no matter how gruesome the results.
   There were maybe a dozen people, each one carrying a tool, and each one looking haggard and agitated.  Some of them were pretty young, the youngest looking no more than thirteen summers old.
   "So it's you then."  The man looked him up and down.  "Never thought you'd be dressed so gaudy-like."  Jormund remembered the bright-orange shirt and vest he was wearing.
   The man brought his shovel down off his should and gripped it with both hands.  "So...  I hear there's a field that needs tillin'."
   Jormund was taken aback.  "What?"
   The people all spread out and began systematically destroying the field Jormund had created.  Some dug, others tilled, and other still went off to the woods with axes and a cart.  The man told Jormund his name was Norm, and that these people were all from the Empire of Resoln, escaped slaves and refugees.  A certain smuggler had gotten wind of a field from one of Re's mercenaries, and the people, having been showered with stories of the old mages, came to make a new home for themselves, hoping the stories to be true.  Jormund wondered how they could possibly stand up to any place that held the title of 'Empire.'
   "Ceresa's still small-time, most of 'em are, but she's the closest one to these parts, and you're the closest one ta her.  We would'a gone to that Irane woman fer help, but she's two weeks travel, and we couldn't carry enough with us to make it."
   "So there are other Empires?"
   "Oh, Irane's no empress, at least not how we hear it.  She's fashioned herself Queen over the midlands, raising a Kingdom.  Supposedly, her an' Ceresa can do strange things to the land, bringing them to life...  Or killing them worse than the wastes."  Norm's eyes drifted off.
   "So you've seen this?"
   "Aye, I have.  It's a gruesome thing...  The trees bloom full, sure, but in the color of ash, and the ground turns black, almost 's if Demons themselves were under the soil.  We been made to work there, but we snuck out, hopin' to make a place fer ourselves out of Ceresa's reach."
   Jormund hoped they hadn't brought worse company with them.

   Days passed, and buildings were raised.  A longhouse for the people, a work yard for them to cut wood, a field with newly sprouting crops.  Weeks passed, more people trickling in, one by one, helping with the construction efforts, all looking to Jormund for guidance.  He had none to give.  Eventually, the people became upset with his lack of knowledge, thinking him some supreme being.  They began to question if he was what they'd heard he was.  A Magic-user.  Jormund wasn't about to appease them.
   Mid-way through the second week, Nabaja came to Jormund's tent with interesting news.  Her and some of the people had gone and explored the surrounding area, trying to make a map of the lands.  They'd made a discovery.
   "It's a building."
   "There are ruins all over the waste Nabaja."
   "No, not ruins, a standing, whole building.  And it's big.  Bigger than anything I've seen but the ruins of the old castles."
   Jormund's brow furrowed.  "Why should I care?"
   "Well, I took a look inside.  No one else would come with me, yellow brats they are, but I found somethin' inside."
   Nabaja produced the item in question and handed it to Jormund.  "What is it," she queried him.
   The item she'd handed him was a book.  Books were few and far between in the wastes, and a find like this could go for thousands of gold, given to the right person.
   "You found this in those ruins?"  
   "I'm tellin' ya, they ain't ruins.  The place is chocked full of these things."
   "FULL?!"  Jormund's eyes alit with suspicion and intrigue.
   "Full," Nabaja replied.  "And boy is it ever, three stories of 'em, lined wall to wall on shelves taller than any man.  You ought'a see it Jorm, it's quite a sight."
   "It's Jormund."  Nabaja had taken to shortening his name, too lazy to produce even the shortened enough version of it.
   "Yeah, yeah.  Look, you comin' or not?"
   Nabaja guided him to the building, a quarter days walk away.  Jormund followed by sound while he read the book.  He'd found one before, and his parents had had one when he was a child.  They had used it to teach him to read, saying that in the old days, it had been an invaluable skill.  Jormund never saw any practical application for it, but as he read the book, a novel of some kind, he thanked the spirits of his parents for having taught him.
   They arrived at the building and Jormund, enthralled by the book, nearly plowed into Nabaja before realizing they had stopped.
   Looking up, a building that reached it's central spire towards the heavens stood before him.  It was sunk into the ground some 40 feet, which explained why he hadn't noticed it on the horizon before.  At the entrance stood a pair of stone gargoyles, which Jormund remembered were guardians against bad spirits and bad intentions.  Superstition, but it seemed to have worked for this building.
   "See?  Somethin' else, eh?"
   Jormund ignored her, suddenly feeling the urge to enter the building. It was different from the compulsion he'd felt to go to the field somehow.  He approached, stairs climbing down the hill to the entrance.  Nabaja followed, taking in the amazing sight for a second time.  Jormund could only focus on the entrance.
   "Careful," Nabaja started, "The door is-"
   Jormund went to swing open the door, causing it to fall over entirely, the hinges so rusted and the door so rotten and twisted that they could no longer support its weight.
   "Rotten..."  Nabaja shook her head.
   Entering the building, Jormunds jaw dropped.  It was just as Nabaja had described, books from end-to-end, shelves 5 and again the height of a man, a second story containing even more shelves, and rotten ladders attached to the shelves.  The whole thing must've been 200 feet across and 150 feet deep Jormund decided, and the books, somehow, despite the rot and age that had stricken the rest of the place, were in near-perfect condition, kept that way by the cooler air and the dry atmosphere.
   A huge book sat before him, in the center of the room, contained on its own pedestal.  The book was nearly half as tall as he was, and he imagined that when it was opened, it's wingspan was just as long as his.  He slowly approached the book.  Its cover was hard leather wrapped around a thin sheet of wood, it's pages parchment, beginning to yellow with age.  On it's front, the title, in huge letters, read, "The Complete Hiergamenon."  Jormund had no idea what that word meant.
   "I would'a brought this one back, but we'd need a wagon to carry the damn thing, and five men just to get it outta here."
   Jormunds hands trembled for no reason he could surmise.  He could feel that this book was the source of his compulsion.  It called to him, singing in his head its want to be opened, its pages caressed, its word examined.
   "Nabaja," Jormund started.  "Go back to the town, and ask the people to bring food and water here for me.  I'm going to read this."
   "You're gonna what-now?"
   Jormund shook his head.  "Read it, Nabaja.  These are books.  Contained within are the stories of old, some true, some imaginary, but all important to a day and age long past."
   "How do you know all that?"
   "My parents told me."
   "Oh...  I was expecting somethin' more dramatic...  Like that fireball..."
   Nabaja left then, and Jormund stared at the book for a time.  Finally, he reached for the edge of the cover, slowly prying open its pages.  Within the first page, he found a near-exact copy of the words and lettering on the front, with a small difference.
   "The Complete Heirgamenon"
   "-Transcribed by Morizan'allarah."

   Jormund stared at those words for a long time.  His parents had always told him to guard his name with his life, that Allarah was their legacy, what was left of it, and that their ancestry went back generations.  He understood his urge on reading these words.  This really wasn't like the Field, or the fire he'd conjured.  It was the spirit of his ancestor calling out to him, begging him to free its soul through the reading of this book.  He left the pedestal, and grabbed a nearby chair, rotten and twisted.  He tested it with his foot first, making it sure it could hold weight, then that it would hold his weight.  Placing it in front of the book, he sat, turning the page, and beginning to read.
   For two weeks he sat there, only rising to relieve himself.  Nabaja delivered the food and drink as he'd requested, and when she asked him about the contents of the book, her words went ignored.  Less ignored as completely unheard.  She could see Jormund mouthing the words as he read them, almost seeming to be in a trance, completely unaware of her existence.  After a couple days, she stopped asking, and merely delivered the provisions.
   The people were creating a rather nice little town while he was away, but many of them were certain he'd ran away, caught in his lie.  Nabaja tried to explain to them that he wouldn't want to be disturbed, but it was not enough for many people.  On several occasions, they forced her to take them to his hiding place within the building.  Same as Nabaja, when any tried to disturb him, they were met with the same indifference, and just as Nabaja had, they could see that he was in a trance of some kind, being drawn into the words on the pages, almost as if he were living the events scribed within.
   For two weeks, he read.  His reading led him finally to the last page, a page not part of any of the Heirgamenon books.
   "My name is Morizan'allarah.  I've written this book, a copy of all the books of the Heirgamenon, because the world is coming to an end.  The Heirgamenon is being collected, the books themselves being moved to a protected location where hopefully others may find them.  Most expect this land to be destroyed, but it is my belief that this place, my own Lost Library, will be a turning point in the future of Elemental.  All Librarians hope this for their Libraries, but I've always known, more than any visitor, and more than anyone who's never been here could know, that this place is special.  I hope that whomever finds this book and has read the pages within understands the importance of them, and uses the knowledge this book grants in a wise manner.  If this book survives, and if it is read, know that the very essence of my spirit now dwells within you, and that my life, boring as it may have been, is now fulfilled in your reading."
   Jormund could feel it then, the special feeling that his ancestor had described.  He could feel that it wasn't the library itself that was special, nor had it been the gargoyles out front that had protected it.  It was Morizan, who in his death, willed this place to survive.  He could feel his spirit there, and asked aloud to the air, for him to deliver his thanks, and his love, to his parents.
   Nabaja entered then.
   "Did you say something?"
   Jormund turned with a start.  "Oh, no, nothing."
   "Ahhh, so you're actually talking to people again.  We were kinda worried you'd die of starvation, you were so captured by that read."
   "That what?"
   "That read.  You said you were going to read it."
   Jormund chuckled.  "It's called a book, Nabaja.  Sorry for not explaining that."  He remembered then that he had explained it.
   Nabaja's brow furrowed.  "Whatever."  She was carrying more provisions.
   "That won't be necessary," Jormund said as he stood.  Upon reaching his full height, he collapsed, tumbling to the ground in a heap.
   "Jormund!"  Nabaja quickly set down the provisions and raced over to him.  "Are you okay?"
   Jormund laughed, the first hearty laugh he'd ever had in his life.  "I'm fine.  I guess I'm just weak from sitting in that chair.  How long was I reading?"
   "It's been a fortnight and then some."
   "TWO WEEKS?!"

   As they returned to the town, Nabaja supporting Jormund as he could barely stand on his own, they spoke of what Jormund had read, on the events of the Cataclysm, the Arnor, the Shards of the Telenanth and how the magic of the world was imprisoned within them.  They spoke of the growing town, and of Nabaja's other find in the woods, another building, not as grand as the Library, but grand still, containing all sorts of alchemy within, and more 'pieces of books.'  Jormund explained that those were pages, and tried to explain the concept and purpose of a book to Nabaja with little success.
   Upon arriving at the town, Jormund found it to be rather bustling.  A small square had been set up, where a few people provided goods and provisions to those who needed them, free of charge to Jormunds surprise.  People were working and there were even a few children now, and what looked like a Tavern was being raised.  On the roof of the frame, he could see Re, driving nails into the support beams of the roof, his wife carting food and drink to those around the town.
   Nal was playing with the other children near, the square, and shouted a welcome upon seeing Jormund.  This caught the attention of every adult in the town, all of whom now turned their gaze on him.
   "So, the false leader finally returns," one man shouted.  They all gathered around him now, and Nabaja, becoming defensive, tightened her grip on Jormund, crouching further down than Jormunds weight caused her too, obviously ready to combat any who would cross him.  Jormund spoke to her, telling her to go to Re, and that he would be fine.  He nearly collapsed again as he struggled to stand on his own, but he managed, wobbly knees and all.
   "What's-a-matter, little under the weather?"  The men gathered into a mob now, many of them with their tools in hand.  Hammers and shovels, wielded in deadly fashion this time.
   "You wanted a leader?  I never claimed to be such a man."
   "Then what was all this?  Why did you make this?"
   Jormund ignored him.  "But now I understand.  I know now why the people need a leader."
   The man was rather infuriated at being ignored.  He approached Jormund now, Hammer half-raised, but not ready to strike.  Jormund could see the mere thought of it irked the man to an extent, but his rage was beginning to far surpass his reluctance.
   "And what makes you think we would have you?  You've done nothing for us, you haven't guided us, and you ran away for two weeks to read a silly book!  Why shouldn't we just kill you right here and now?"
   Jormund spotted the campfire then, and an idea sprang to his mind.  He stumbled over to it.
   "Listen," he addressed the crowd now.  "I know I haven't been the leader you were promised.  Until today, I never wanted to be that leader.  I'm still not sure I do.  But I know now that I'm the only one who can be!"
   "I could lead this town better than you ever could," one man shouted.  "Me too," another shouted.  Their shouts were met with cries of 'Me too,' and 'Yeah, so could I.'
   Jormund shook his head.  "No, you can't.  I'm the only one who can protect you now."  No one responded to this verbally, but their looks showed an utter disbelief and a rising hatred, each and every person in the mob thinking him arrogant.
   "You don't believe me?"  His query was answered with shouts of 'Hell no' and 'No way.'
   Jormund willed the warmth inside him to grow then, imagining a fire in his belly, being fed and stoked, prodded and poked.  He controlled it then, not letting it grow too large, nor letting it get too small.  He willed part of that fire to go to his hand, and when he looked, he was holding a small lick of fire in his hand.
   The people watched, awestruck as the lick grew, becoming a candle-sized flame, and them a torch-flame, until finally, with a rushed motion, Jormund willed it out of his hand, and threw it at the campfire, causing it to burst into flames, some of the wood sent flying, pattering onto the ground nearby.
   The people gasped and looked on in fear and wonderment.
   "I'm the only one who can protect you now.  I'm not the only one who can do things like this."  He pointed at Marz, "Ask him about the dead lands where the self-styled Empress Ceresa resides, how black they are, how the trees bear ash, and ask him how he thinks that came to be.  He will not have an answer.  But I do!  I'm a Channeler, and so is she.  We are the few who can use the magic of this world, once thought dead and lost."
   He had their full attention now, the fear leaving their eyes, the wonderment abated, and he knew then what he must do.
   "Ceresa will not be happy that we're here, in lands she's sure to think belong to her.  But she's wrong!  These lands belong to you, to us, the people who founded it, the people who worked it, the people who made it more than just a patch of grass!  I have made this tundra livable, and you have made it worth living in, but it is certain that there are those who would seek to change that, to take away our new-found way of life!"
   "I ask you now, not as a Channeler, but as a man, same as any of you...  Let me lead you!  Let me protect you!  I cannot promise that I will not make mistakes, and I cannot promise that I will actually live up to the promises I'm making in asking you to let me lead.  But I can promise that I will give my life before I let anyone take these lands from you, that I will give my heart to see the people of this place thrive, and that I will give my soul to keep the peace."
   His arousing speech was not met with a cheer, nor fanfare, nor any sort of measurable reaction.  For a time, the people just sat there, in silence, looking upon him.  It was one young, intrepid boy, by the name of Nal, who set Jormunds speech into motion.
   "But we need a name!"  Re hushed his son, but smiled on the inside, knowing it to be true.
   Jormund chuckled.  "He's right...  We need a name..."  The people began shouting names, most of them their own, or variations of their own.  Jormund shook his head at the chaos, and asked for quiet.
   He saw a bear in the distance then, a mother escorting her cubs across the open field.  The bear looked at him, as if it knew what he would say next.
   "Talranth."  The people looked at one another, queries rising amongst them, wondering what kind of name that was.
   "When I was young, my mother used to tell me a story...  This story was of the great bear, Talrania.  Talrania died, protecting her cubs from all manner of creatures, even felling a Dragon, so that her cubs would have food to eat and a place to sleep once the bones were picked, and that the skeleton of the creature, a creature so fearsome felled, would protect them."
   "We will take that name.  We will live to that ideal, the ideal of protecting our own, such that even Death itself cannot stop us from doing so.  We will fell Dragons and beasts so fearsome, that none will dare cross us.  We shall be known as the Kingdom of Talranth!"
   The men and women cheered their agreement.  The kids clapped and giggled.  Re smiled.  Nabaja shook her head and snuck into Jormunds tent.
   The next day, Nabaja led Jormund to the site she had mentioned before.  This building, not as grandiose as the Library, had all sorts of strange tools inside.  Beakers and vials, some full of viscous-looking liquids, some broken, and notes scattered about the entire building.  Jormund collected the notes, and found them to be ideas on practical applications of Spells.  He was able to learn a great deal about magic from these notes, and was soon able to cause crops to grow more quickly and produce greater yield.  He would be able to shield his town and its people if the need arose.  He even learned how to summon a bear-cub, his 'Familiar' he called it, who could talk and help him riddle out the answers to questions contained within the notes.
   People came from far and wide across the Northlands to join his growing Kingdom.  The life returned to the lands near the town as Jormunds power grew.  The people prospered.
   Then one day, Jormund, doing his rounds through the town, saw something odd.  A small group of men, taking a mule and provisions, bearing the newly created flag of Talranth.  The black bear and orange banner flowing in the breeze brought joy to Jormunds heart.  The sight of people preparing to leave, did not.
   "What's going on here?"
   "We're leaving sire."  That was a new one.  He'd never been called Sire before.  Sir, and Jormund he was used to, but never something so regal as 'Sire.'
   "Whereabouts?"
   "The snows melting far and wide sir.  While most of the Northlands are still lifeless, just wastes now, we think we might be able to settle a new town on the other side of the Talranian Woods."
   "And the banner?"
   "Well...  We intend to extend the nation sire...  We...  Well, we didn't want you to know, honestly, and we're really sorry about that...  But you can't have a Kingdom with just one small town, can you?"
   Jormund nodded.  "I see..."  An idea sprang to mind, something on one of the notes from the Arcane Laboratory he'd read. "Wait here."  The men looked nervous.
   Jormund returned a short while later carrying a beaker salvaged from the lab.  The note that the beaker had been set atop of had mentioned something about the water contained within being the essence of life magic.
   "Take this, and pour it on the ground when you arrive.  Use only a single drop, for it's all we have."
   "What is it sire?"
   "An experiment.  If I'm right, it will make your work making the land livable far easier."
   "And if you're wrong sire?"
   "Then it's just water."
   They left, saying goodbye to their friends and families, for those that had them, and it would be some time before they were heard from again.
   Attiembi grew.  The name Nal had thought of, and while it wasn't laced with meaning like Talranth was, it seemed to fit somehow.  Nal was becoming quite the researcher, and had taken to reading like a fish to water, more skilled at it than any other researcher Jormund had at his service, even the adults.  The boy was quickly becoming a well-spoken young man.
   On one particular day of note several of the Pioneer's returned, bringing news of the new road they'd constructed between Attiembi and the newly founded settlement of Embineas.  It was official now.  Jormund had a kingdom.
   Several more Pioneer's were sent out in the coming weeks, and before long, the nation of Talranth contained six settlements, each more successful than the last.  Caravans were coming to and from Attiembi twice a week, and they were arriving to and from the newer settlements as well.  Jormund finally took it upon himself to explore the lands that were being called his, and he rode out with the next caravan.
   For every town he visited, he was greeted with fanfare, hailed as the wise and mighty ruler who'd made the Northlands into a paradise.  Jormund smiled and refuted these claims, but none would hear of it, and they praised him everywhere he went.  Until he returned to Embineas.
   His trip had taken him through Embineas, then to Tanath, the Northmost settlment in his empire, nestled near the ocean and deep in the mountains.  Then towards Nokeslil, and lastly, to Isiir then Iherr, the 'Twin Cities' as they had come to be known to the residents.  Travelling back through them, he arrived again in Embineas, but none of the fanfare of his first visit was present.  He wasn't especially surprised, seeing as how it had only been a few weeks since his last visit, but what did bother him was the fear he sensed in the townsfolk.  They spoke in hushed whispers and went about their work as if a great weight had been set upon them.  When Jormund questioned them about it, many of them looked away and refused to respond, begging for his forgiveness.  He never turned them down, always trying to remind the people that he was just a man, and while he may be their leader, he took no pride on it.  Not that he shouldn't, of course, but rather he didn't want it going to his head.
   It was during his questioning of one child that the Pioneer, Tral, came up to him and requested his attention on something of great importance.  Embineas had grown into a large settlement by now, and it was a quarter-days walk to the object of the townspeople's concern.
   They arrived at a pedestal, built into the side of the mountain that Embineas was nestled against.  It was truly massive, the whole pedestal being about half as large as the Lost Library which now resided within Attiembi's town.  At the top of the Pedestal, there was floating in the air, a massive stone.  It's color was that of red and orange fire, and the color actually seemed to mimic the way a flame moved and licked, giving the stone a truly surreal appearance.  Jormund could sense something special about this stone, and the closer he got to it, the more the fire inside of himself began to well up without his willing.
   "This is what has the townspeople so frightened sire."
   "Well, that's certainly a cause for alarm."
   "Aye sire.  Any idea as to what it is?"
   Jormund sifted through everything he'd read up until know, his internal collection of books becoming quite massive.  None seemed to fit, until he came upon his first great discovery...  The Heirgamenon.
   "It couldn't be..."  Jormund approached the stone then, making his way up the hundred-some-odd stairs, Tral following apprehensively.
   "Couldn't be what sire?  Do you know what it is?"
   "Tral...  I think that this may be a Shard of the Telenanth."
   Tral stopped then, twenty steps up the pedastal.  He looked in awe at the shard, the stories of these mythical stones having spread to the whole of Jormunds nation by now.  Tral had been there on the day he'd made his speech, and in the days after that, Jormund had explained the contents of the Heirgamenon to the town, outlining the people's true history on Elemental.  While none had forgotten the Cataclysm, many had forgotten how it came to pass, and that magic once proliferated every aspect of their world.  None in Talranth would ever forget.  Jormund approached the shard, finally reaching the top of the pedestal.  It hung their ominously in front of him, and he could hear the hum of magical power contained within.  Two feet from the ground it floated, rotating ever so slowly, the fire within swirling more rapidly as Jormund approached it.
   He touched the shard, and the fire inside it swirled at a maddening pace, the center of the vortex forming around Jormunds hand.  He felt the fire well up inside him, growing to proportions he could've never imagined.  The power of the shard ebbed and flowed through him, using him as a conduit, but his own power was still too young and small to contain the full power of the shard.  His own magic boiled over at an incredible pace, consuming him in an aura of fire.  He could not remove his hand from the shard, bound to it by the magic that flowed through it.  He realized then that his curiosity had gotten the better of him.
   If it hadn't been situated so far above the town, it's likely that Embineas would have been destroyed by the resulting shockwave.  A few of the people closest to the shard would go deaf many years down the road, as the sound was so immense that it damaged their ear-drums.  The people of the town would fear the shard for many weeks after this, convinced it was an evil spirit despite knowing the truth, and until Jormunds return, they would try to destroy it with no success.  Jormund would not know of any of this for several days.  When the magic had finally reached a breaking point within his body, the excess had been expelled, leaving Jormund a slumped heap near the shard, unaware of the events that had just passed.
   When he finally awoke and learned of the story, Jormund ordered the shard sealed off from the rest of the town, and ordered that no one was to even attempt approaching it before his return.  He returned to Attiembi and poured over the notes in the Arcane Lab, trying to see if there was a way to harness this power.  He admitted to himself, it might be folly, but he could feel that something, an event of epic proportions, was about to unfold.
   While he did not find anything relating to harnessing this energy, as most of the notes were from before the Shards had locked away all the magic of the world, he did find many useful notes pertaining to how he might harvest its power.  Gold seemed to resonate with Magical Energies, and Stone was a sound way to help direct those energies, being resistant to the actual magic, though not its side-effects.
   Three wagons left Attiembi, one full of Gold, one full of Stone, and the third containing the strongest workers Jormund could find.  He had devised a way to potentially harness the energies of the shard, allowing him to access them regardless of where he was.  If he was right, it would produce results much like those on the day of the shockwave, but in a more controllable manner.  The magic contained in the shard would trickle into him constantly, giving his magical abilities a boost, without causing them to overflow like they had before.
   The work began in earnest, with Jormund supervising the project.  Many of the townsfolk thought him insane to try such a thing, so to help abate their apprehension, he put on a show the night after the work began.  He displayed feats of magic, even summoning a molten giant to do a jig.  In the end, it did little to ease the apprehensions of the citizens.
   When the work finally finished, Jormund approached the shard once more, apprehensive after the results of last time.  
   He approached the shard slowly, and it reacted to his presence still, though to a lesser extent.  He decided the only thing he could do was try and hope he didn't kill himself.  He touched it, feeling the magic well up inside him for a moment, and then it abated.  His power felt bolstered by a significant degree, but it was obvious the Shard still contained most of its magic.  Pleased, Jormund considered it a success.  As he climbed down from the shrine, Tral approached him in a fluster.  He climbed the steps at a blistering pace, taking no time to awe at the huge construction of gold and stone.
   "Sire!  Sire!  I've terrible news!"
   "What is it Tral?"  Jormund was rather exhausted from his endeavor.
   "Sire...  A missive has just come from Nokeslil, brought by their fastest messenger.  They're under attack."
   "Bandits?"
   "No sire...  The missive, and the messenger, say that the attackers have skin of ash and features of ghosts.  They wield massive weapons and wear armor of steel.  Their leader claims they're soldiers of Resoln..."

Chatper III, Part Two:  The First Year

Jormund left that night, riding alone on the fastest Horse Embineas could offer.  Horses were few and far between as it was, mostly procured only from the smuggler, and on rare occasion.  Without sleeping and without stopping, he made it to Attiembi in only three days time, the horse nearly lame by the time he arrived.  He consequently declared the horse the first member of Talranth royalty, and proclaimed that no one would ever ride it again, not even him.

Nabaja had become a self-styled Marshal now, and commonly led patrols out into the wilds to help guard the town.  She was just about to set out on such a patrol when Jormund rode in making strange declarations of Horse-Nobility, and she thought he'd finally lost it.  Approaching him, she saw the fear in his eyes, something she'd not seen since the night he first used magic, and knew then that whatever it was, it was serious.

"Jormund.  What brings you back to Attiembi, and without your workers no less?"
"Nabaja..."  His tone was dire, and tamed even her.  "We're at war."

Nabaja and Jormund discussed plans to combat the threat approaching them then.  Nabaja may not have been smart, but she had more of a mind for combat than even Jormund did, understanding the ins and outs of logistics and training.  The only problem they could come to was equipping.  Spears and Bows would not be enough.  Even though the bowyer that had come into town was skilled, and could create longbows for their troops, this alone would not be enough to stem the coming tide.

"I just don't know Jorm.  Without swords at least, there's no way we can possibly hope to fight them, if what Tral said is true."
"But we have to do something Nabaja..."  His eyes drifted off.  "I made a promise."
"What about your magic?  Couldn't you just melt them all?"

Jormund shook his head.  "Even with the extra power from the Shard, it wouldn't be enough, not for a whole army.  It's too limited.  I'd run out of steam before even a tenth of them were defeated."

"Um," a small voice said.  Nal stood behind them now, still wearing his researchers robes.  "I think I have an idea Jorm."
"Nal, this is no time, and you should be home in bed anyway."
"I'm serious!"  His frustration disappeared immediately, and the meekness caused by the nature of the meeting flooded back into his demeanor.
"I found this."  He handed a book to Jormund.  "It's a manual."

Jormund opened the book and eyed the manual.  Contained within were drawing of weapons and engines of war, and paragraphs on forging methods and proper construction of tools and walls.

It was then that Jormund realized he'd kept one hand behind him the entire time.  "Nal...  What else?"

Nal's eyes drifted to the floor, a look of shame about him.  From his other hand he produced a crude dagger, clearly made by his own hand.

"I forged it in our fireplace, and used a flat stone and a hammer in the woods behind our house to shape it."
"Nal," Nabaja queried, "How long have you had this book?"

His shame permeated the air around him then.  "A month, maybe."

"Nalre!" Nabaja scolded.  Jormund disarmed her with a wave.
"Nal," he knelt down to say, "Can you show the architects how to make more of these, and bigger, if we let you use the manual?"
"Swords, I know what you mean.  And yes, probably."  He refused to meet eyes with Jormund.
"Nalre Colstadt, look at me."  Nal obeyed.  "What you did was bad Nal, but you're lucky.  You have a chance to make amends here.  But the only way you're going to do it is if you work your ass off, understand?"
"Yes sir," he said reluctantly.
"You're going to help the architects forge weapons.  Weapons of war.  And you're going to help Ralnias create bows.  You're going to learn everything there is to know about these things, and master them.  Understood?"

Nal seemed at ease with this proposition, but still reluctant.  "Yes sir."

"And furthermore," Jormund started, "You're going to tell your father what you've done.  But like I said, you're lucky.  You're going to tell him that I'm already punishing you for your theft, and when he asks what you're going to do, you're going to tell him to come to me, right?"

Nal was confused.  "Uhh...  Okay."

"Now, go home and tell him, right now."

Nal left, head hanging, muttering under his breath about the reaming he was about to get from his father.

"You sure that's a good idea Jorm?"
"No.  But it's the only chance we have."  He folded up the map and asked Nabaja to leave.

He'd never had time for such things, and never bothered when he lived on the wastes, but as she left, he couldn't help but stare at her form.  She wasn't the smartest person he'd ever met, not by a long shot, but she had a certain... Wisdom.  And it helped that she was very attractive.

Re came to his chambers a short while later, bursting in, rage filling his every feature.  "You can't do this," he shouted.

Jormund took a deep breath.  "Do what?"

"Don't play dumb with me boy!  I was wielding a sword before you were born!  You can't possibly expect me to let this pass!"

Jormund nodded.  "No I can't."

"Then why are you doing it?!  You're not making any sense!  And why do we need swords anyway?"
"So Nal didn't tell you."
"Tell me what?  What's going on Jormund?  And so help me, if you lie, I'll wring your throat right here and now, magic be damned."

Jormund stood from his chair and looked Re dead in the eye.  "We're at war Re.  Nokeslil is besieged by Resoln as we speak.  We may not make it in time, even if we were to start tonight."

The fire crackled ominously.  "War?  What does my son have to do with war?  You aren't planning on making him a soldier, are you?"  Fear filled the old mans face.

"No, Re, not a soldier.  A smith.  Nal told you he stole a book, yes?"

Re was taken aback a moment, but instantly began raging again.  "Yeah, he did, but it's nothin' compared to what you're doin'.  I don't care if we're at war, he ain't making swords and bows that're gonna kill people."

"He's the only one who can Re."
"What nonsense are you spoutin' now?"

Jormund held up the dagger, too small for his hand, but perfect for a boy Nal's age.

"He made this."
"You're talkin' crazy, I would've known.  I would've heard hammer falls."
"From the woods behind your house?"
"He..."  Re stuttered.  "He...  There's no way...  He couldn't...  But..."

   "Re, your son, he has a gift.  Not like mine, but more special than any magic could ever be.  The boy absorbs information, and not just that, but when he puts his mind to learning a skill, he learns it, quickly, and excels at it.  The boy's a natural at anything he sets himself to."  He held up the dagger, "Even forging tools of war."
   "That's no excuse!"
   "No, it isn't, but the fact that he's the only one who knows how is.  He won't be alone, I've told him to teach the architects, but I have a feeling he's going to be far more skilled at it than they will ever be.  We need him Re.  Your son has become the key turning point in the war that's already happening on our borders."
   "This ain't what you promised boy."
   "I promised to die defending my kingdom if it came to that, and die I shall, but never did I say anything about what requests I would or would not make of you and your son, nor anyone else here.  I'm not sending him off to war, but he can help the war without being in danger.  He's the only one who can help the war right now.  And he's getting to be where he's old enough to make his own decisions anyway, but this is not his decision.  It's mine, as your leader and protector.  Protest all you want, but it's done."
   "But, you can't..."  Re sighed.  "I see...  You're right...  I can't help it though...  It ain't fair.  More than the user is the maker of such things that puts blood on his hands.  Nal's just a boy, he shouldn't have to bear that burden."
   "He won't Re.  He's not making tools to kill, he's making tools to save.  To save our people.  He won't be the one killing, he won't be the one who has to wash the blood off at the end of the day."
   "And what about you," Re asked, indignant, "Are you gonna have to wash blood off of yer hands?  You're just gonna sit back an-"
   "No.  I'm not just going to sit back.  I made a promise and I intend to keep it.  Tomorrow I'll put out the call to arms.  In a weeks time, hopefully we'll have enough equipment and men ready to stem the coming tide.  And I will be at their head."
   "Wait, ya can't be serious?  You're gonna lead them yourself?  Jormund, you're our leader, and a Channeler.  You're the only hope we've got of makin' out here.  If you die..."

   "That's why I can't die Re.  I may have promised it, but I promised myself something else at the same time.  If I die, my death has to be like Talrania's.  If and when I die in combat, it will be a death that forever safeguards Talranth.  I've seen battle before, and I'm not stupid enough to throw my life away."
   "What about love?"
   Jormund furrowed his brow.  "What do you mean?"
   "I see how you look at Nabaja.  You like the girl."  
Jormund chuckled sarcastically.  "So?  It's one way, she's never reciprocated a day in her life.  Besides, what about our kids?  I'm a leader now, and a Channeler...  Who knows what that would be like..."
   "Oh, she's reciprocated, not that you'd ever know."

   Jormund queried Re with his eyes.
   "Remember when ya found the library?  And ya asked her to bring ya food an' drink?  Well, she says it was like you were in a trance then.  And every day she came back, wonderin' if, so deep in that trance, ya'd even eat the food or drink the water, even after ya were eatin' it.  She'd go on endlessly 'bout how concerned she was for ya, and yer well-being."  Jormunds eyes wandered the room, looking at nothing in particular, but rather examining his thoughts for any sign he may have missed.  He shook his head.
   "Re, now's not the time.  We have a war to attend to, and trying to distract me into letting your boy out of his duty isn't going to work.  I won't throw away love, if what you say is true, but it doesn't change the fact that there won't be anyone to love if Ceresa has her way and crushes us."
   He seemed to have hit home with that statement, as Re's eyes now wandered in thought.  Finally, looking up, he agreed to let his boy become a smith, and he left.
   "So she likes me, huh?"

Chapter III, Part Three:  The First Yeat

   The next day, just as he'd said, Jormund informed the citizens of Attiembi of the growing threat, and put out a call to arms.  Nal went to the architects to have them start tutoring under him, but they wouldn't listen, thinking him rather bold to be telling such a lie.  All apologized profusely to Jormund when they found it to be true, and he in turn directed that they apologize to Nal, whom they'd now be apprenticing under.  None of them were thrilled by the idea, but after a days time, they had come to respect the boy and the knack he had for teaching, and forging.
   The smiths worked day and night, rarely sleeping, and produced dozens of swords.  The tailors of the town were set to creating armor of leather and padding, since Jormund was sure they wouldn't have time to create the suits of steel armor outlined in the manual.  Nal never fulfilled his promise of apprenticing under Relnias the Bowyer, but with how much effort it was taking him just to teach the architects how to smith, Jormund told him he didn't have to make good on that part.  Instead, he assigned the older adolescents to apprentice under him instead.
   On the sixth night of work, Nal came again to Jormunds chambers, a large object wrapped in cloth in his hands, heavy enough that he could barely carry it.  It certainly wasn't meant for him, as it was sized to fit a man, not a boy of 14.
   "Jormund?"
   "Yes Nal, you can come in."
   "I'm already in."
   Jormund turned to face him, noticing at last the object he was carrying.
   "What in the name of goodness is that Nal?"
   "It's for you.  Da said you'd be going out with the soldiers that Nabaja's been busy training.  I thought you'd need some protection, since you're not taking any armor."
   "And how would you know I'm not taking any armor?  The Tailors have been working on pieces for the week, just as you have been working on swords."
   "Actually, I haven't been."  Jormund eyed him with anger, but Nal explained.
   "See, I was too busy working on this when I wasn't spending my time teaching the adults.  I had to get it just right for you, so it doesn't break or something."
   Jormund furrowed his brow.  "Well, let's see it then."
   Nal stood the object against the table and removed the cloth.  Jormund maneuvered around to his side to see what it was.
   There before him stood an ornate shield.  Artistically crafted, it looked to be light enough for him to wield well.  In the center, the visage of a roaring bear was embossed.
   "A mind for research, a hand for forging, and now a finger for art?  You truly are something else Nalre Colstadt."
   "Don't call me that."
   Jormund chuckled.  "It's actually beautiful Nal.  I'm sure it will stop many swords and arrows."
   "You better be the one using it Jorm.  I didn't make this for just any sap ya know."
   Jormund smiled.  "I wouldn't dare give it to anyone else Nal."  He meant it.  He was sure he wouldn't need the protection, but the artistry displayed on it made it worth being called a gift.  And if Nal went to such trouble just to protect him, he would be sure to make good on the intent and carry it with him into battle.
   "Oh, and, we've gotta talk about some stuff too."
   "Like what Nal?"
   "Well, I had some ideas about how we can make sure we're ready when we get to-"
   "Whoa, hold it there Nal.  You don't think you're coming with, do you?"
   "I want to, but Da already said I'm staying here.  I meant 'we' as in 'Talranthians,' not we as in me."
   "Okay...  What's your idea?"
   Nal produced a series of designs from his pocket, slightly crumpled up, but perfectly legible.  On the pages were blueprints for portable facilities, everything necessary to make Bows and Swords on the road.
   "Obviously, the stuff can't be used while you're marching, but during resting, you'd have everything necessary to keep making swords and bows."
   "Why do we need this Nal?"
   "Well, we haven't been able to make as many pieces as I would like, and Relnias says that his apprentices are catching on quick, but they aren't really producing anything that'll hold up in combat.  He's only been able to produce a handful of usable bows.  This way, Relnias can come with you and make bows.  The architects are actually pretty quick too though, and while some of the stuff they've made is pretty mangled and we've had to throw it out, most of what they've made is actually usable.  You could take Markus and Troy with you, they're my best, and they'd could help supply you on the way to Nokeslil.  I was also thinking that if you only took the people you could outfit with you, you'd only have a handful against a whole army.  If you plan on actually saving Nokeslil, you'll need more than just that.  This way, you can still take maybe twenty or thirty more people with you.  It's probably not enough, but it might help.  We've already made a pair of them for you to take with you."
   "Thank you Nal, this will help immensely."
   He smiled and nearly couldn't contain himself from skipping out of the room, pleased as he was with himself.  Jormund smiled at his enthusiasm.  The boy really was something else.  He was going to have to compensate Valin somehow when he got back though...

   The next morning, the men were gathered and geared before Jormund had even arrived in the square.  Nabaja had had them up an hour before to do light drills and prepare them for the long march to Nokeslil.  He hoped they could make it in time.  In the distance, the sound of Nal yelling at the architects could be heard as they loaded the portable forges into the wagons, and set up the end of one of the wagons to work as a bowyers table without compromising the rest of the space.
   Nabaja greeted Jormund arrival by shouting "Aten-SHUN," to the troops, who all immediately stopped what they were doing and stood at attention.  She'd obviously scared them into paying attention to their training very well.  Among their number were some younger men, the youngest looking to be about 15.
   "You," Jormund called to him.  "Up here."
   The boy came to stand before him.  "Yes sir?"
   "Go home."
   "Sir?"
   "Go.  Home."
   "No sir.  I want to fight."
   "Boy, Nabaja may be your trainer, but I'm her commanding officer and I'm telling you to go home."
   "But my parents, they said-"
   "Yes, and they'll be grateful when you tell them that I said they can go shove their decision.  Keep the sword and train if you wish, maybe someday you can be a soldier or a captain of the guard, but you're far too young for a war.  Go home."
   The boy, jarred by the response, left and headed towards home without a word.
   The 16 year old that had been standing next to him gulped.  Jormund called him to the front.
   "Why are you here?"
   "I wanna protect our home sir."
   "Our home isn't threatened.  Why are you here?"
   "Sir, Nokeslil-,"
   "Is not our home.  Our home is here, in Attiembi.  Why are you here?"
   The boy struggled to find an answer.
   "Go home."
   "No sir."
   "Are you going to disobey a direct order as well?"
   "Yes sir.  I won't leave like Hal did.  I'm going sir."
   "Then answer me.  Why are you here?"
   The boy sighed.  "Sir, Nokeslil is our closest settlement to the Resoln border.  I know this because I escaped Resoln, by myself, just a year ago, and came here to Attiembi.  It sounds terrible, but I have a bone to pick with them sir."
   Jormund nodded.  "Make ranks soldier."
   The boy nodded and his chest swelled with pride.  "Yes sir!"
   "We march for Nokeslil, which is under siege as we speak," Jormund said,  "You must prepare for the fact that we may already be too late, and if we're not, it may be too late by the time we get there.  I can promise you though, no matter what state we find it in, we will make Resoln pay."
   A harmonious "Huuh," arose from the crowd, surprising Jormund a little.  Nabaja was really good at this.  She had them working like a well-trained team.
   "You'll be under my command from here on-"
   "I don't think so," Nabaja chirped.
   "Excuse me?"
   "I trained these men, I taught them their orders, I know what to say to each and every one of them to motivate them.  You need me Jorm."
   "Nabaja, I can't-"
   "Whatever, I'm going and you can't stop me unless you're going to choose now to start being a tyrant."
   "Big word for you."
   "Shut up.  MEN!  MARCH!"
   In synchronous, the men took a step in place, then began marching out of town, taking the road towards Embineas.  A few civilians then scurried towards Nabaja and Jormund leading mules, pulling the wagons with the supplies and crafting equipment.  Nabaja pointed them in the right direction.  Troy and Markus gave Jormund a nod.  Nal stood and watched them leave, arms folded, looking awfully pleased with himself.  Nabaja and Jormund took the time to take one last look at Attiembi, and then proceeded to follow the troops.
   Once they were a sufficient distance from Attiembi, Nabaja stopped the march, and ordered the men break ranks.
   "We aren't resting already are we?  It's two weeks walk to Nokeslil.  At this pace it would take a month."
   "No, we're not resting already."  Nabaja pointed to the men, who all began to strip off their armor.  "You can't possibly expect a weeks worth of training to prepare these guys for marching with weight, or keeping an organized march for any long periods, can you?"
   Jormund shrugged and agreed with Nabaja.  He guessed he was finally starting to let the leader thing go to his head.  This was a great wake up call.
   The soldiers all stretched a little bit before Nabaja called for them to get moving again.  All of them kept their swords, basically guarding the supplies they brought with them.  It occurred to Jormund that without the armor, they looked like a glorified convoy.

   While Jormund was used to long walks that could take days to complete, it was clear most of these people were not so accustomed to it.  Even without the armor, some of the men sagged behind, and many of them clearly had to force themselves to keep moving through a great deal of stress.  Troy and Markus took turns riding on the Bowyers wagon.  One soldier had tried to catch a break by riding one of the forge wagons before Nabaja snapped at him, saying she was sure that Mule had enough trouble pulling the weight already.  Ralnias, the bowyer, made fun of the younger men for sagging behind.
   His rag-tag band worked pretty well together.  No one wanted to take Relnias' insults, and would pick up their pace, pushing themselves to their limits and beyond.  Troy and Markus commonly took the time to walk and let someone else take a ride on the wagon when they really needed it.  The supplies themselves went very far.  The men showed a great deal of restraint in using the rations.
   They arrived in Embineas in only five days.  Nabaja had pushed the men to their limits, driving a nearly reckless pace.  She explained to Jormund that they could take a day to rest when they arrived, and then leave a day ahead of schedule, taking a slower pace to let the men regain their strength.  She guessed they'd arrive half a day early, the men at near full energy.
   On the sixth day, Jormund rose a little late to find Nabaja putting out a call to arms.  He wasn't pleased with this, as her idea of putting out a call was practically grabbing any able-bodied man off the street and conscripting them.  He calmed her down and decided he'd better do the calling.

   "People, she's right.  We are putting out a call to arms.  My over-zealous Marshal here apologizes, but she raises a valid point.  We need able bodies to protect these lands.  You all know by now that Nokeslil is under siege.  If it falls, Embineas is next."
   This got the people's attention, and they all started to gather in the square.  Ralnias wasn't happy that he was using his table as a podium, but shrugged off his distaste for the greater good, taking his materials elsewhere to craft.
   "We need anyone who's willing to fight," Jormund started, "And who has the fortitude to do so.  We do not need children, and anyone without at least 18 summers will not be taken, with some exceptions.  If you are at least 16 summers, and can give me good enough reason, I will take you, so great is our need."
   This shook the people, and immediately many men, particularly those with kids about that age, stepped up, saying they would rather fight than let their children fight.  When all was said and done, Jormund had nearly 120 men in his ranks.  Embineas had grown more rapidly than Attiembi, being situated in mostly open fields, while Attiembi was surrounded by coasts and forests.
   Jormund realized that he had a lot more men than he had swords or armor now.  They'd only brought with them sixty swords, and roughly ten more had been made on the way by his count.  They'd only ever had enough armor for about seventy-five men.  Before the crowd dispersed, Jormund spoke again.
   "Now I put out the call to every person in this town.  We need your help.  You see before you more than one-hundred men, but we do not have the armor nor the weapons necessary to outfit them all.  To all the Tailors, their husbands, and their children, I put out the call for more Armor.  I've brought the designs with me, and we need these at a blistering pace.  I'm counting on you for roughly fifty suits, and any more you can produce by sun-up tomorrow to outfit whomever is left in Nokeslil."
   "Furthermore, I put out a call to your two fastest runners.  The fastest of those two must go to Attiembi, find a boy by the name of Nal, and have him produce copies of the designs for a Forge and Weapons for you.  Bring those here, and begin working on them immediately."
   "The second fastest will have the more dangerous task, and I understand how foolish it seems to send the second fastest in place of the first, but the first priority is to have you capable of producing weapons and armor to defend yourselves should the need arise.  His task will be to travel ahead of us, to Nokeslil, and tell them that help is on the way.  His task will be two-fold, however, for we will need him to scout, and if the way into the city from here is blockaded, he should return to us and tell us numbers, strength, and position of the troops in question.  If those runners are here, go now."
   Immediately, two young men, each no older than 16, immediately sped off, literally sprinting in towards their destinations.  The urgency of the situation was not lost even on the youngest of the people, the children gripping to their parents that hadn't joined his ranks.
   "The last call to the people is to the rest of you.  It is imperative that you finish this wall."
   Jormund could see a large hedge rising above the city in the direction facing Nokeslil.  A question sprang to mind.
   "What the hell is that anyway?"
   "A Hedge Wall sire," Tral said from behind him, in his ranks.  "We made a palisade and lined it with hedges, to prevent anything climbing up it.  Also, anything that tries to get over, perhaps a tower, would be unable to do so, as the rising hedge would block any attempt.  Our Archers will still be able to shoot over, however, and we've made spots beneath the top for them to see and shoot through as well."
   "Tral, get out of my ranks."
   Tral was taken aback.  "Sire?"
   "Tral, I need you here.  You founded this city, you lead these people in my stead, and I cannot have you following me on a fools errand.  Get out of my ranks."
   "Sire, but-"
   "Tral, you're the only one who can lead these people."
   "Untrue sire, there are many here who can lead."
   "Perfectly true Tral, as you're the only one of those people that I know and trust.  You'll be able to act with my intentions in my absence, as you have already done for the last year.  I need you here Tral.  Get back there with your people."
   "But...  I..."  Tral sighed, "Yes sire, I understand."  He returned to the crowd with reluctance, looking upon Jormund then.  He nodded at Tral, his expression dire.  Tral understood fully then, that what Jormund had said was true.  Tral was the man he needed here to prepare this settlement in case they failed.
   It was then that Tral decided to derail his leaders speech, taking action like he knew he should've from the start.
   "You heard the man!  We've gotta get this wall up!  Why're ya'all just gawking like a bunch of trolls!  Move it, move it!"  The people quickly dispersed, giving and urgent life to the town.

   Troy and Markus had set up their wagons in the town square, and what people weren't working on the wall were carting materials to their stands.  They worked from sun-up to sun-up at a blistering pace, making weapons as quickly as they possibly could without any pieces they'd need to throw out.  None of them were perfect, but neither were the ones already being used.
   The Tailors also worked tirelessly, producing far more pieces than Jormund had actually needed between his call and the next sun-up.  While the actual Tailors, ladies all of them, had gone to bed when they could stand no more, their husbands and the older male children willed themselves to go on through the night, producing a few mangled pieces, and at a much slower pace, but filling the needs of the warriors in Jormunds growing army.
   The work on the Hedge Wall also proceeded at a blistering pace, the entire frame outlining the town going up in just that one day.  While the body of the wall itself, and the Hedging still needed to be collected and placed, they would finish in short order at this rate.
   Two more wagons were procured to carry the rest of the supplies and equipment, and come the next sun-up, the newly recruited people of Embineas said goodbye to their families and marched with the dawn.

Chapter III, Part Four:  The First Year

   Nabaja kept the pace slower, as promised, and used the pace as a way to help teach the newer recruits proper marching and team-work.  While they stumbled over each other at first and prompted Nabaja's rage in doing so, but by the end of the day, they were working together nearly as well as the men from Attiembi.
They arrived Nokeslil just as the sun was setting on the thirteenth day of travel.  On the far edges of the town, they could see smoke rising from the fields.  Nokeslil was a farming village, having been settled near one of the few remaining wheat fields left in the world.  Shortly after its founding, the settlers had also discovered a large bee colony.  A couple of the settlers actually died from excessive bee stings after having disturbed the bees, but a resident of the area, formerly an old hermit, came to like the village and live there, teaching the townsfolk how to protect themselves from the bees, and how they could even be helpful.  He showed them how to construct an Apiary and harvest their honey safely, and it was this knowledge that kept the citizen alive.
   The morning after they arrived, Mikr, the founder of Nokeslil, led Jormund to the watchtower they had constructed after the settlement was founded.  From the watchtower, they could see the full might of their enemy.  An army, nearly 1,000 strong stood before them.  There was one boon, however.
   "It seems like none of them are archers," Mikr said.
   "None?"
   "None sir.  Each and every one of them is quick on their feet, but they seem to lack the strength of humans.  The folks here have taken to calling them Wraiths.  Gren said he heard one of 'em call themselves by that name."
   Jormunds brow furrowed at the mention of Wraiths.  He remembered reading several thing on Wraiths, in the Heirgamenon as well as in other documents.  Jormund sighed.
   "Well then, what are the main concerns?"
    "Numbers sir.  With your men, I'd say we number close to two-hundred.  They number at least one-thousand."
    "How about our supplies?"
    "With the food you brought, and even with the added men, I suspect we could maintain our supplies for another couple months, at least, but we will eventually starve without the wheat."
    "How's morale?"
    "Poor sir, but better now that you've arrived.  The residents have hope again, and that's a start."
    "But only a start..."  Jormund sighed.  "Get your fastest runner.  Have him go to Embineas and get copies of the schematics they've received.  If they haven't any spare copies, tell the runner that there are plenty in Attiembi.  Also, when he arrives in Embineas, their runners should help yours spread these copies to Tanath, Iherr, and Isiir, as well as bring them here.  They'll have to go to Attiembi anyway though, as we need more Cedar for Relnias and his longbows.  Regardless of any of that, when the runner passes through Embineas, he's to put in an order for more iron, we need to finish outfitting our men, and have their Tailors continue fashioning armor as well.  Make sure they know that now they're also finishing the outfitting of this settlement.  Lastly, all the runners are to put out calls for able bodies when they reach Tanath, Iherr, and Isiir.  I suspect Nabaja would say we need to be at least 400 strong to combat an army like this."
"Sir, wouldn't we need to match their numbers?"
"No Mikr.  Remember...  They have no bows."

    For eighteen more days they waited.  Armor streamed in from Embineas every couple of days.  In the first fourteen days, they finished outfitting the citizens of Nokeslil, and with the overflow, they were able to mostly keep up with the outfitting of the new bodies that came from the remaining settlements.
   All the while, skirmishes were taking place on the edge of the town.  Nabaja had examined the area the night of their arrival, finding all the best ambush points, and with the men from Attiembi, they were able to defend the daily raids that came into the outskirts of the town.  They took casualties from time to time, but no one died from their injuries, and by the time the last of the new recruits arrived, nearly everyone was well enough to fight at full strength.
Tanath and the Twin Cities had all been extremely generous in sending soldiers.  Tanath sent a large portion of their adult male populace.  Isiir sent everyone they could spare, some fifty men, and they arrived with several wagons laden full of small wooden round-shields.  The shields wouldn't stand up to a direct blow from a sword, but they could be used to deflect anything smaller than an axe. 
Iherr, the farther of the two Twin Cities, sent 80 Women.  At first Jormund wanted to send them back, but after their founder, a woman by the name of Amelia, pinned his cloak to a post as a joke, and a display of skill, Jormund gladly accepted them into his ranks.  Apparently Relnias wasn't the only Bowyer in his lands.  Incidentally, several of the women Amelia brought with her were Bowyers, herself included, and they immediately began working with Relnias to produce bows for Jormunds forces.  Every soldier in his army now carried a bow.
Their army was nearly five-hundred and fifty strong now, but their enemy had been supplying themselves with new troops as well.  Mikr guessed they were about twelve-hundred strong at this point, meaning it would surely be an uphill battle for Jormund and his forces.  The food streaming in from Attiembi, the only other city they had that was able to produce any excess food, was not enough.  The time had come where they had to break the siege.

   "So, does everyone understand the plan?"  Nabaja's query was met with a resounding 'Huuh' from the troops gathered around her.
   "Are you sure this is going to work Nabaja?"
   "Nope.  But it's the best idea we've got."
   Jormund sighed.  He hated that she was right.
   Just before they crested the hill, Nabaja called for everyone to halt.
   "Your leader...  No, your King has a few words to say."Jormund had not planned on giving a speech, and shook his head at Nabaja.  Nabaja shot him a sinister smile, as all the men and women of his army were now looking to him to make a speech.
Jormund walked to the top of the hill, shield in hand but still covered.  He removed the cover then, and the army muttered.  He could hear some of them question why they hadn't gotten such shields, and others comment on the beauty of the piece.  Jormund raised his hand to call for silence.
   "This shield here..."  He struggled to find the words.  Why did he fixate on the stupid shield?  This was going to hell really fast.  He could feel the morale of some of his men dropping just for having revealed the thing.  
   "This shield was given to me by a boy.  He delivered it to me as a gift, telling me that the image embossed here was the Great Bear herself, Talrania.  It was a fitting gift, since now, we face down our own Dragon."  The men hushed, giving Jormund their full attention.
   "When he gave me this shield, he did so in the hope that it would protect me from any harm that's likely to befall me today.  He told me that he hoped the spirit of Talrania would safeguard me, just as she had her cubs."  His words were met with understanding by the crowd.  He was fortunate that the tale was well told within his kingdom now. 
"Well, I say that this shield will do more than that.  This shield will imbue each and every one of us with the spirit of Talrania herself!  And I will use this shield to protect every man and woman here today!  Her spirit is with us men!  With her at our side, we cannot fail!  FOR TALRANTH!"
    The men and women cheered, and without prompting, began marching to the top of the hill, preparing their bows and nocking arrows on their strings.
    "That was pretty good," Nabaja said.
    "Damn you for putting me on the spot like that.  And calling me 'King,' really?"
    "You're waging war now.  Are you anything different?"
    Nabaja gave him a strong pat on the shoulder as she left him to ponder those words.  Jormunds eyes drifted off as he wondered if she was right.  The full weight of his responsibility came down on his shoulders then.  Somehow, despite that, he found the resolve to continue, and marched to the top of the hill, leading his troops.
    The army arrived at the top of the hill, and Nabaja called for everyone to nock arrows.  Many already had, and the remainder did so.  She called for them to draw.  The strain of string and cedar rose in accordance with the tension of the people.  She called for them to aim.  They aimed.
    "On my horn."  Nabaja inhaled a ridiculously deep breath.  She held it for a second, then brought the horn up to her lips and blew.  The sound reverberated for a mere moment before the sound of snapping strings and loosing arrows filled the air around them.  The echo was all they heard, as the opposing force jumped to action.  Many of them began charging when a swath of them fell to arrows hitting their mark.
    "Nock!"  Nabaja was nearly frantic now.  While she had a mind for tactics and military training, she'd never actually led an army in combat.  Despite her tone, her and everyone else managed to keep their cool, even if only just barely.
   "Draw!  ....  Aim!  ...  Fire!"  Another volley was loosed, a smaller swath of the opposing force falling.  By Jormunds eyes, there were still about nine-hundred left.  It wasn't enough, too many of the arrows were missing their mark.  They hadn't had any real time to prepare the men for long range aiming.
    They still had time for a final volley.  Nabaja called for archers to nock again as the rear line, nearly two-hundred men and women, began to retreat back to the town and prepare ambush positions.  As she called for them to draw again, Jormund felt they were pushing their luck.  The opposition seemed to be closing much faster than they had anticipated.  Nabaja saw it too, calling for the men to aim low and fire.  The arrows still fell behind their target, only a few lagger-behinds falling.  They could not face this large an army in close combat, and Jormunds heart sank.
    Nabaja called for the retreat, and Jormund didn't hear it.  The fire was welling up inside him now, and he knew he had to do something.  If he couldn't thin their ranks further, they would be over-run, even with the plan in place and going flawlessly.  His head was pounding in time with the thrum of his racing heart, and he knew he had to do something.  He wished he could just cut down another swath of them, try to give them a chance.
    The sky above the approaching forces opened up then, and Jormund felt his magical essence being tapped.  From what seemed like a rip in the very fabric of reality, a storm of fire rained down upon the closing army.  Many were roasted on the spot they stood, and others still tripped over their corpses, in turn becoming charred husks.  This surprised the army, causing them to slow to a near halt as they scrambled to defend themselves from the falling inferno.  Jormund marveled in morbid awe at the sight, and Nabaja turned just below the crest of the hill to watch the spectacle.  It ceased shortly after, however, and the army, regaining its composure exceptionally quickly, began its charge anew.
    "Come on," Nabaja shouted at Jormund, breaking him from his reverie long enough for him to see the opposing force bearing down on him now.
    "MOVE DAMNIT MOVE!"  Jormund turned and ran at a full break, Nabaja leading the way.
    They arrived at the town with the opposing force only minutes behind them.  Nabaja shouted for everyone to prepare themselves as she ran through the streets to her post, Jormund in tow.  They ducked into a house mid-way down the ambush lane, and waited, the thunder of approaching footfalls growing ever closer.  Nabaja patted Jormund on the shoulder again, and headed to the roof of the house, preparing to sound the call again.
    Archers all over the city did the same, preparing to sneak onto the rooftops when their enemy was in position.  As the enemy entered the outskirts, most of them ran down the city streets, stopping in confusion when there were no defenders to be found.  Some of them streamed into buildings, and were quickly cut down as quietly as possible.  The troops on the ground level managed to avoid alerting most of their opponents, and none had to fight more than a few enemies for the moment.
    When all was quiet and the Wraith's could be heard speaking their confusion, the women from Iherr and every man who'd shown exceptional skill with a bow climbed onto the rooftops, careful to not make any sound.  There, 100 stood above the unsuspecting Wraith's.  Just before their leader could make the call to search the buildings, Nabaja got his attention.
    "Hey there ugly!"  The Wraith looked up in confusion, as did many others of his kind, many of whom were shot dead on the spot by the archers on the rooftops.  Nabaja blew the horn, and the Talranthian defenders streamed out of the houses and craft-buildings, catching the Wraith's off guard and cutting hundreds of them down before they could collect themselves.
    Hundreds more were still streaming into the city however, and the fighting began in earnest.  The rooftop archers sang tales of destruction with their bows, and the gleam of metal could be seen on the ground.  Jormund was ashamed then, as he found himself cowering inside the building.  He could see that even Nabaja had entered the fray now, having jumped down off the rooftop to land on her target, killing him before she'd ever even stabbed him.  He watched her now, fighting like a demon, slaying all who challenged her to single combat.
    As he watched, his mind argued with itself, half of it telling him to stop being a coward and fight like a leader should.  The other half told him to stay where he was, that this was far beyond his pay-grade, and that he'd never actually been paid anyway.  As his mind quarreled with itself, Nabaja was taking more heat from the Wraith's, several of them surrounding her now.  Jormunds fearing for her safety then ran out into the street on impulse, striking down two of her assailants before they realized what was going on.  Three more turned their attention on him then, and he spent all his focus on not dying at that point, unable to find a good time to throw a fireball.
    Nabaja watched in awe as he danced with his attackers, metal ringing against metal, Jormund dodging and blocking blows from three opponents.  She was so captured by it that she didn't realize she was under attack herself until her assailant kicked her to the ground.  Laughing sinisterly, he raised his axe, preparing to give the death-blow to Nabaja.
    Jormund, between blocking blows, saw this.  "No!" he shouted, and dropped his sword, holding his empty had out towards Nabaja.  He felt something then, like he'd just ripped a part of his soul from himself and tossed it to the ground.
    Nabaja put her hand out in vain protest of her impending doom.  As the axe came down, it stopped just before her open hand, and a fire sprouted, the source of the repulsion, shooting from her hand, flinging her attacker back in spectacular fashion.
    Nabaja looked at her hand in shock, much the same way Jormund had so long ago.
    Jormund took a grazing slash to his side then, causing him to recoil in pain and stumble away.  When he opened his eyes again a mere moment later, another attacker was approaching Nabaja from behind.  He called out to her, and as she turned to look, and realizing the danger she was in, raised her sword to deflect her attacker while placing her other palm on the ground to begin rising to her feet.  Forgetting about the spectacle she'd just created, she returned to the fight.
    Jormund took another grazing slash then, this one to his back, forcing him to his knees.  His attackers giggled with evil glee, and one of them kicked him in the ribs, tossing him sideways onto his back.  He cringed and looked towards Nabaja again, instead seeing his sword.  A roar from the attacker on his right drew his attention, and he raised his shield to deflect the blow, reaching with his left hand to grab the sword, and proceeding to stab the attacker on his left in the leg.  He was greeted with a howl, and the attack tumbled over, prying the sword from Jormunds hand.
    He rolled to his left then, the removal of the attack there giving him just enough room, and as he got to facing stomach down, he placed the front of the shield and his left hand on the ground, attempting to spring up.  The weight of the shield however caused him to land on his knees.  This was fortunate however, as his nearest attacker had saw him jumping back to his feet, and has preempted him with a swing that would have taken his head clean off if not for the failed attempt.  Jormund quickly lunged towards the attacker, shield first, breaking his jaw and dropping him to the ground in a gibbering heap.  As another attack from his last assailant approached his open side, he stepped in and grabbed his opponents right arm, stopping the sword mid arc.  He drew back and pounded the Wraith's face with his shield, crushing his features and killing him instantly.
    Corpses, both Wraith and Man, littered the streets, far more Wraith than Man, as the attackers were being pushed to the edge of the city.  The spry Iherr women had lept across rooftops, helping the fighters on the ground to drive the enemies even further back, while the men from the rooftops had abandoned their bows and joined the fighting on the streets, swords and wooden bucklers in hand.  They pushed the enemies back, taking far fewer losses than the Wraith's, until finally, the one or two hundred that were left broke into a full retreat.
   Nabaja bellowed in victory then, and was joined by the remaing men and women.  They had won.

   Over the next days, the corpses of the enemy were carted outside the city and burned in great heaps.  They counted the fallen, both enemy and friendly alike.  The attackers had lost over nine-hundred men, while only one-hundred and twenty two Talranthians were killed.  Despite the resounding nature of their victory, it was a harsh blow to the small nation, and another attack like this would surely wipe them out in their entirety.
    A graveyard was erected near the Nokes Woods, and the dead were buried.  Every soldier and citizen of Nokeslil was in attendance as Jormund christened the monument they'd erected to commemorate the brave men and women lost that day.  While none of the women from Iherr were lost, it was found in collecting their dead that many of the soldiers in his army had posed as men, cutting their hair short and hiding their feminine features, they had wanted so badly to protect their homes and families.  Jormund declared that Women would be allowed any station they wanted, provided they showed merit as any other man could.
    Troy, Markus, Nabaja, Jormund, and most of the other residents of Attiembi returned to their homes, Jormund being forced by Nabaja to ride in a wagon most of the way while his wounds healed, despite his protests.  Relnias did not return with them however, instead going to live in Iherr.  Most of the women there actually shared his pessimistic and hardened views on life, and he'd grown fond of them, seeing them equal to any man before most non-Iherrian men ever would.  Several other Attiembi residents, exclusively those without families there, or young men, decided to stay in Nokeslil and help them rebuild.
    Nabaja was named High-General by Jormund for her tactical prowess and superior fighting skills, as well as her solid training methods.  Not a single man or woman from the army that day had cowered as Jormund had, and each one fought with the ferocity and animalism of Talrania herself.  They truly had felled their metaphorical Dragon that day, though Jormund feared even this would not be enough of a feat to deter the Empress Ceresa for long.

   Finally, they arrived in Attiembi.  On the second day after his return, it came to Jormunds attention that he had not seen Nabaja since they'd arrived.  Re had only seen her in passing, and his questions about the battle had gone unanswered and ignored, as she collected some supplies and provisions the day of their return, and had not been heard from again.
    Jormund searched high and low all that day, his wounds, still healing, slowing him down all the while.  After taking all day to search the town with no success, he began searching the edges of the woods.  Long after night had settled in, he finally found her.  As he was passing near the edge of the forest behind Re's tavern, he caught out of the corner of his eye what looked to be a fire-light.  It disappeared when he focused on it, and he dismissed it, only for it to return to the corner of his vision again when he began looking away.  Focusing on the spot where he'd seen it, he saw nothing, only to realize why.  It was appearing and disappearing every few seconds.  He followed the light.
    "I know you're there Jorm.  Come on out."  She snapped, and a flame lept into existence on the end of her thumb.
    She had set up a campfire but had not lit it.  She was sitting on a flat rock, the edge of which was scarred.  This was certainly where Nal had conducted the forging of his dagger.
    Jormund sat on the ground a short distance from her.
    "So..."  She blew out the flame, and then snapped it back into existence again.
   "Yep," she said matter-of-factly.  "You definitely did this to me."
    Jormunds gaze averted hers then, sure that she was right.
    "Know how I could tell?"  She returned her gaze to her thumb, the breath from her words extinguishing the flame on it.  She snapped again.
    "I could feel you out there."  She blew it out.  "I didn't hear you, you did a right fine job of sneaking up behind me."  She snapped.  "It didn't do ya any good though, cause I could just sense you there, somehow."  She puffed.  "I bet that's a Channeler thing, sensing magic."  She snapped again.
    "Would you stop that?"
    "Stop what?"  She puffed again.
    With a flick of his wrist Jormund caused the campfire to burst into life, the light encircling the entire clearing now.
    "Why did you do this to me?  Why did you make me into this?  I never wanted this," Nabaja spat.  "I never wanted to be a Channeler or to use magic!  Why did you do this?!"
    Jormund understood her rage, but couldn't form the words to answer her properly.  Instead, he sputtered.  "I...  Well-...  I couldn't...  Look, it was-...  It was just a reaction, all right?  An impulse..."
    "Oh, so you just knew, right there, in the middle of a fight, that I was destined to be a Channeler too, is that it?  You knew I was supposed to help you...  Save the world or some nonsense like that?!"
    Jormunds eyes drifted to the ground.  "It wasn't that kind of impulse..."  He wrapped one hand around his neck then and did everything he could to avoid meeting Nabaja's gaze.  Her brow furrowed.
    "What do you mean?"
   "I mean...  It wasn't like the field, or the Hiergamenon...  It was, something else, okay?  I didn't have any special knowledge or anything, it just happened..."
    "So," Nabaja started.  "What you're saying...  Is that...  You...  Gave me magic..."  She shook her head.  "To protect me?"
    Jormund cringed at the words.  "I didn't mean to.  I never wanted this to happen."  He finally met her gaze, and met her eye earnestly.  "I'm so sorry Nabaja."
    Nabaja stood.  In an indignant tone, she bade Jormund to stand before her.  He ignored her demand.
    "Jormund'allarah, I'm commanding you, as a citizen of your nation, the Kingdom of Talranth, to stand here before me and meet my eyes."
    He reluctantly stood up and walked over to her, but would not meet her gaze.
    "Jormund," she said in a harsh tone.  "Look at me."
    He mustered up what little courage he could and met her eye.  What he saw there took him aback.  In the moments after his observation, what happened took him even more aback.
    When he met her gaze, she leaned in and kissed him.  More than just a peck, but less than an exceptionally passionate kiss, it had just the right amount of love in it for a first time.  She then proceeded to bite his lip, hard. 
   "SONOVA!"  Jormund checked his lip and found blood on his fingers.  "What was that for?!"
    "That was for the romantic gesture of saving me," she said, referring to the kiss.  "And for turning me into a Channeler," she said, referring to the bite.
    "And you're going to be paying for it for the rest of your life by taking me as your Queen and teaching me to use magic proper."
    "Whoa whoa whoa, now let's not get ahead of ourselves.  I'm not sure we've exactly come far enough as a couple to warrant you becoming Queen..."
    Nabaja leaned in close and wrapped her arms around him.  "You sure about that?"  She kissed him passionately, the firelight dancing off their faces.
    In nine months time, their first child, Adiax'allarah, would be born.

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Authors notes:  I did it.  I managed to make it fit.  Also, in case none of you picked it up, Jormund is left-handed.  Yep.  Always has been.  Whenever you're imagining the actions he performed in your mind...  Well guess what...  YOU DID IT WRONG!  MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!  Actually, I tend to make every character I create a lefty, despite being right-handed in real life.  I don't know why.  Jormund was actually the first character, back when he was a DnD Cleric, that I ever did this with, one of the few traits that I carried over from my other incarnations of him.

I hope you've enjoyed this, and I thank my readers for sticking with me, especially with this latest fiasco.

Edit: Reformatting done.  This is OFFICIALLY the last Post, Edit, anything I'll be making in this thread.  Toodles!

awesome.  wonderful story.  hope you write more... many more...