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Elyria at War Part 7: The Hrothi
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Elyria at War: The Hrothi

Brothers, who needed them?

Natia put the full fury of her rage into the blow and her heart filled with a momentary joy as the iron rang true, eclipsed again by her annoyance.

She knew that the Virtues had put them here just to torment her. How else to explain being burdened with six of them? It was a trial. A chore. A challenge.

The smithy was in disarray and upon discovery of the chaos, her first instinct was to chase after them with a poker, red hot preferrably, but the forge was glowing and the air smelled exactly right. No sense shirking her responsibilities for vengeance. That could come after.

So she hammered away at the blade, slowly shaping the steel, folding it in on itself, not once, not twice but a hundred times, a thousand. Her arms were tireless as her sweat hissed, spraying towards the forge with each swing. When the blade cooled, she reheated it, when the sweat pooled she wiped it. Again and again, until the sound of hammer on blade rang out like a harmonious chime. That was what she needed.

Whenever she worked the forge, she searched for that sound. The sound of steel; that was where true virtue could be found. It was the only music she needed.

In that respect she differed from her brothers. All six of them couldn’t find a virtue if it bit them in the ass. They were all too focused on the pleasures of the present, not the strength found in permanence. Too much like those living under the blue sky.

How anyone could live without a roof over their heads, she could never fathom.

All that nothingness above. It sent shivers down her spine. She couldn’t imagine living without a solid roof of stone. After all, where did the sky end? Where did it begin?

Sometimes she thought it was the sun, it boiled people’s brains enough to make them believe that freedom was to be found in the open sky. It was probably also responsible for all that senseless violence, all that fighting over nothing and no one. This noble, that noble. Who cared? Didn’t people understand that sooner or later everything but stone disappeared? The mountains had seen the rise and fall of civilizations and would do so again.

Before she knew it, the blade was done. The blow ringing true, like the sound of a spring bubbling forth. Fresh and vibrant. Yes, this blade would do, Natia told herself.

She was the artisan in her family when it came to iron and steel. She was even quite renowned among her peers as being one of the best.

Not that she liked to brag, but the acknowledgment was something she could almost take pride in. Still, a weapon well forged was all the pride she needed. A proper craftsman let their work speak for them.

She placed the finished blade into a rack, intent on sharpening it later.

For now it was time to go find her wastrel brothers and teach them a lesson.


The plan had been simple. Find her brothers. Kick her brothers. Natia walked out of her family’s workshop down the street to her the stone doorway that served as the entrance to her home.

She fully expected to find her brother’s lounging around in the main hall, drinking and singing and doing nothing but being collective waste of spaces, so she was surprised to find the main hall empty. Usually at this time of day her mother would be working on one of her small projects, illuminating a page of exquisite vellum or fiddling around with different inks and pens trying to perfect a particularly difficult symbol or sigil. She expected her father to ho and hum by the short stone table to the right with a book on his lap, his ever present frown crinkling his bald and wizened head.

Her father was long past the age when he could lift a hammer all day tirelessly and now only took on projects when he felt like it. So he spent most of his time reading or talking down to his sons.

Yet there was no one here.

She walked further inside when she heard voices coming from the far study.

If Natia had one flaw, it was curiosity. She possessed an insatiable lust for knowing things, especially new knowledge. The Greyhair’s might frown at her for being too inquisitive but they never admonished her for it. Even they knew that there was value in new learning, after it had passed a couple of centuries inspection of course.

As she walked further in she could hear voices coming from her father’s study. It was odd, since usually no one bothered using it. They were a close knit family, spending hours together and the study was only there to keep up appearances of propriety.

She heard her father’s voice and one other. A voice she didn’t recognize.

At first she couldn’t make out the words but as she grew closer the voices became more distinct.

“Surely you must realize…” The stranger’s voice said.

“The Elders decided. There’s nothing to be done.” Her father’s calm tones responded.

“My family was cheated!” Again, the stranger’s voice, filled with anger and indignation. Natia was surprised at the depth of emotion.

Usually when the Elders or anyone argued it was in calm, measured tones. Sure, there were a few forceful gestures, but it was always with dignity and stalwart conviction, not flame and fury.

She didn’t catch her father’s response but had almost reached the door when the door opened and an elderly Hrothi, close to her father’s age if not slightly older opened the door and came storming out, his face a storm of anger.

“Oh.” Natia said. “I was just coming to see if you wanted some fungus tea.” Her voice polite and low.

The older mann paid her no heed and rushed by.

Natia stared after him for a moment but then turned to look at the open study. Her father was sitting in a chair shaking his head.

“Who was that?” She asked, standing in the doorway.

“A distant cousin.” Her father replied. “A not very happy one.” He chuckled.

“I can see that.” Natia replied. “So what did he want?”

Her father shook his head again. “Digging up old shafts as usual.” A sigh escaped his lips. “Apparently our great-great-grandfather was cheated of the throne and he was here gathering support for a claim to ducal seat.”

“And why did he seek you?”

“To see if I would support him. I told him no. Our great-great-grandfather might or he might not have been cheated, but it doesn’t matter. Four generations are too long to bear a grudge.”

“So what happened?” Natia asked. Now she was curious. She hadn’t yet learned all there was to know of her ancestors and a story like this sounded juicy.

Her father looked at her and gave her a sweet smile.

“Dear child, I’ll tell you when you’re older. Some things are not meant to be learned at too young an age.”

Natia nodded, dissatisfied but understanding. Her father’s words had wisdom. Just like the secrets of the forge were not meant for the young, so too did some words, have power.

Then she remembered the real reason why she’d come back home.

“Where are the others?” She asked.


Parts of the city were like a burrow, with central tunnels serving as streets and individual passages leading to homes and shops, but other parts, the more affluent parts, were almost like a hive.

Great terraces filled the artificially enlarged cavern supported by solid pillars of worked stone, standing atop those were buildings of stone and imported wood, circling the interior of the cavern like a slowly ascending great ramp.

Her people were master builders most definitely but in a place where each individual home had to be carved from solid rock, the cavern represented the work of generations of ancestors. Expanding on the natural caves they had found to create this great dome like structure beneath the mountain.

It was a marvel of engineering and architecture, with every pillar carefully placed and lovingly maintained to spread out the load of an entire city.

Some tunnels led off into other caverns while others to seemingly innocuous simple doors that hid huge buildings that occupied an entire cavern.

The sight took her breath away each time she saw it and it warmed something in her heart. This city would withstand the test of time.

Unlike the structures of the surface dwellers the city under the mountain was safe from the vagaries of weather, from the ravages of time. Here in stone the Hrothi would be preserved.

Her father had said that her brothers were out on the plateau.

Apparently a new caravan had arrived while she was working and all six of her useless waste of space brothers had decided now was the perfect time to go. Probably running before they felt her wrath.

The gates leading to the outside were wide open and sunlight streamed in, bathing the dark grey interior with brightness.

Natia had to blink repeatedly and still her eyes stung as she went from the comfortable low light of the Inner City into the bright sunlight and as she passed the cavern into daylight proper her world shifted uncomfortably. The sky opened up, a blue mass of seemingly endless proportions that just screamed wrong to her.

For an instant she wanted to cling to the ground, but that was for children.

She was a womann grown so no clinging to the ground and screaming while undergoing the first baptism of daylight that most Hrothi underwent.

The scene in her memories was replayed in the inner courtyard as she saw a mother dragging her son along the ground with him screaming.

“It hurts!” The child mewled.

The mother knelt down by her son and stroked his cheek. “This is the daylight. It’s a part of our world. Just like mine gas and cave ins. A danger you need to know. To be aware of.”

Natia passed by with a small wince of sympathy for the lad and a chuckle at the image. She was sure that she’d never been as bad. At least she hoped.

The Inner City, the cavern city, was guarded by a massive circular wall that hugged the rockface and a massive gate fit for giants under which she passed.

The Plateau outside the city housed the newcomers, the daylight folk, those who wished to dwell in sunlight.

There was a huge swath of land between the Outer City and Inner City that was forbidden to build upon by ancient decree and as yet no one had dared violate it, but Natia supposed it was only a matter of time.

Her small but hurried steps quickly took her towards the Outer City; where half bloods and foreigners, adventurous Hrothi and travelers lived, worked, loved and lost.

It was the intersection between the daylight and underground world and as such seemed like a day at the festival to Natia. Folks of all shapes and sizes, wearing all imaginable colors, roamed the well ordered streets.

Tall Brudvir walking arm in arm with their Neran paramours. Small Kypiq looking surly as Hrothi and Neran children wanted to play with them. Even a few Waerd looking at everyone suspiciously except the few cloaked Dras who stood like specters in shadowed alleys or under wide roofs.

They all came for one purpose and one purpose only, at least that’s what her father always said. And it was not for a well ordered and purposefully structured life that the Elders always claimed.

No, her father probably had the right of it.

They came for steel.


After a good quarter hour’s walk she came upon the caravan site, though to her it looked more like a travelling circus than a proper caravan.

A half dozen Ursaphants penned up with a few docile Trisons happily munching away at the clean mountain grass, colorful tents and stalls selling an unimaginable amount of different goods and even a scarred Kypiq balancing atop a ball juggling knives for coin.

Music and laughter filled the air, a cacophony of strange open emotion that made Natia feel slightly uncomfortable.

How could these daylanders all be so free with their expressions? It was almost as if they were running around naked in a way. Now, that thought made her smile.

“A rose for a pretty damsel?” A voice said from her side. Natia looked up to see a tall mann standing by her side with a flower in hand. A rose probably, whatever that was.

She supposed he might be considered handsome, for a daylander, with a well formed nose and neatly trimmed mustache and accompanying beard. And his eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

“Thank you but no.” Natia said quietly. Great, what did he want?

“Are you by chance alone, milday? And if so might I, Andaro Brocea, accompany you?”

Natia narrowed her eyes. “What do you want? If you want money. I don’t have any on me. So get lost.”

An expression of agony marred those handsome features. “You wound me dear heart, you wound me deeply. I was but admiring the wondrous sight before me. Not for profit or gain, but sheer admiration.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Natia replied, not knowing what to say. What was he babbling about? “To answer your question. I’m looking for someone. Six someones.”

“Do I have competition milady? How scandalous and six of them. Tell me where the blaggards are and I shall show you the depths of my devotion.”

“They’re my brothers.” Natia said, ignoring the last part.

A calculating expression came upon the mann’s face. “If I tell you, what do I gain?”

“What do you want?” Natia replied.

“A kiss.” Came the response quickly. All too quickly.

Natia thought about it for a second. But only a second. Then she said

“Fine, if you tell me, I’ll give you a kiss, on the cheek mind.”

Out came that smile again. Way too smooth.

“You’re in luck then milady. I just so happened to see six young Hrothi enter the beer tent but a few moment’s ago.”

“Those little bastards!” Natia cursed. “I’ll show them.”

“Now about my reward?” Andaro asked.

Natia sighed internally. “Fine. Bend down and I’ll give you your kiss.”

The tall mann bent down and Natia stepped closer. Her face drew closer to his cheek then she bent her arm and punched him.

Andaro Brocea fell over as if kicked by a mule. Years at the forge had left Natia with proper strength.

“That’s for asking for a kiss!” She spat and walked off towards the beer tent.

On the way she saw a frying pan displayed among other goods. She picked it up and hefted it. Yes, this would do nicely.

“I’ll be borrowing this.” She told a merchant who was deep in conversation with another customer. Before he could stop her she was at the opening of tent.

“Arax! Grigor! Gevorg!” She started calling as she stepped inside, frying pan in hand. “Breon!”

The interior of the beer tent was silent as she stepped inside but she saw her brother’s trying to extricate themselves from the long benches.

She moved forward to confront them.


Community service. What a joke! Just for haranguing her wastrel waste of space brothers.

Okay, so she had punched a complete stranger and she had ‘borrowed’ a frying pan and she had disrupted legally licensed premises but still, this was a bit much wasn’t it?

After all, she’d only tried to guide her brother’s back onto a virtuous path. But no, the Elders hadn’t seen it that way. Bunch of stodgy old fogeys.

So now here she was, three months into her five month sentence, as a gate guard.

What a joke.

It was supposed to teach her the value of discipline and order. As if she didn’t know those already. And her brothers? What did they get? Nothing but a stern talking to… by the Virtues she still wanted to strangle them.

Deep down she knew what she’d done was wrong but at the same time it had felt good. Just to be guided by her whims.

Still, now she had to pay the price.

So each and every day instead of working the forge, of doing something that was actually fun, she was bored out of her mind. She donned the chain shirt and Duke’s surcoat, took up spear and shield and walked the length of the Outer Wall.
Day after day.

Natia leaned against the low wall and sighed, wiping the sweat from her brow. At least she’d gotten used to the daylight, though it still didn’t feel natural.

“No skiving!” A voice called from behind her. The tone was joking but Natia straightened on pure reflex.

Natia turned to see Lusine walk up to her. Tall for a Hrothi she was a veteran of many years who walked with a limp from an uninteresting battle, apparently.

“Oh relax rookie.” Lusine said, laughing. “I’m not going to stab you.”

Natia gave a weak smile. She wasn’t comfortable with Lusine’s easy manner either. Probably too much time spent under the sun.

“So anything interesting happen?” The older womann asked.

“Clouds, birds, so… not much.” Natia said

“You’ll get used to it.” Lusine said. “There’s not much to do except gaze at the sky and the ground.”

Wasn’t that the truth. The Outer Wall was short so there wasn’t much to patrol but it was high, towering above the Outer City like a monolith.

Standing atop the wall, looking out over the mountain valleys, the far off fields of wheat, the blue smear that was the river, Natia could almost imagine the surface wasn’t such a bad place. Indeed here atop the wall, she felt like she ruled the world. The only thing stopping her was the horizon.

Atop the Outer Wall she, a Hrothi, stood taller than the rest of the world except the mountains themselves. It was a heady feeling, sending a shiver of pleasure down her spine; that or the cold breeze drifitng off the mountain.

Natia was about to say something when she spotted something in her field of vision down below. A rider belting down the highway towards the gates. He was frantically waving and shouting but by his stature she could tell he wasn’t Hrothi, at least no full blood. He rode his horse easily.

“What do you think is happening?” Natia asked, turning to Lusine, who had a dark expression on her face.

“Nothing good.” The veteran replied.


They came at dusk.

A great writhing horde clad in torchlight like a flaming serpent snaking through the mountainous paths. Veering off then merging again. As the first enemies crested the horizon the great Outer Gates were slowly being closed.

As far as Natia could see the evacuation had been successful as every inhabitant of the Outer City had been brought into the mountain itself.

She had no idea why they had come or what their purpose was but there was a sinking dread in her stomach as she watched the enemy horde draw closer.

That night the Outer City burned. The flames reaching higher than she could believe.

Then the screams started. A howling in the night that was pure terror and pain.

“Folks who didn’t want to evacuate.” Lusine said not looking at her.

“Every crisis there’s someone who doesn’t believe. Every crisis there’s someone who dies.”

“Why?” Natia found herself asking.

“Hope, maybe or fear. Could be anything.” Lusine shrugged.

“I don’t understand…” Natia said. She couldn’t. Her mind couldn’t process the image it was seeing, nor the sounds it was hearing. All it made her want to do was crawl into the darkest tunnel she could find and hide.

“No one does.” Lusine said. “It’s war. War makes the blood boil and heart freeze. What I don’t understand is what they hope to accomplish? No one can breach these gates. We could hole up in this mountain for a century and not care one whit about the outside world. Just close the gates and have done with it.”

Natia didn’t understand either but while she might know a blade better than anyone, she knew little of war or the arts martial. So she couldn’t judge.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Lusine placing a hand on her shoulders.

“C’mon rookie. Let’s get you some food and a decent night’s sleep. You’re gonna need it.”

Lusine kept her grip on Natia’s shoulder as they walked by the mustered guards and soldiers. Most nodded to them, grim expressions of determination on their faces.

Natia expected they would be in for a long night.

One week in the bombardment started. The enemy had constructed massive trebuchets and started pounding the Outer Walls, to no avail in Natia’s mind. At least there didn’t seem to be any sign of damage. Hrothi stonework was made to last and no amount of siege craft was likely to break them easily.

There was always the possibility of tunneling, but the Outer Walls had been build atop solid stone and there were defensive tunnels running underneath the Outer City with soldiers standing by, ready to step into the breach.

So why had the enemy come? They had to know that besieging a Hrothi city was as useless as a tin pickaxe, didn’t they?

No, something was wrong here. The image didn’t fit. There was a piece missing to the puzzle. Something no one could see.

Natia put the thought from her mind and concentrated on the field below. Through the tiny peephole in the walls she could see the enemy encampment.

Built on the edges of the ruins it was almost city like in proportions. Every day she saw riders flood in, and lone riders leave and every day the enemy numbers slowly grew.

She felt a slight tremor as another boulder impacted the wall.

“Best not get too close.” Lusine said. “Never know when it might hit our section.”

Ever since the bombardment started everyone was forbidden from standing atop the wall, except a few chosen individuals, lest they fall off by the shaking of the wall; or in the unimaginable scenario that a boulder managed to fly high enough to hit the top.

By the third week the enemy had begun construction of a mine. Every day Natia saw workers diging down carrying packed earth upward and every day the hole grew larger.

Every day as she walked home she saw the scared faces of the people of the Outer City confronting her. Every night they haunted her dreams. Their faces and the sound of screaming.

As far as she knew that first night had been the only time there’d been casualties but there was still an air of loss in the Inner City.


During the fourth week of the siege Natia had drawn night duty but this time without Lusine.

On most nights the bombardment stopped as the fading light made it difficult for the siege engineers to aim. She was walking the corridor inside the wall when she heard a noise.

Odd. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone here besides her.

Natia crept forward to investigate. Her footstep drew her closer to the gatehouse and she stopped when she saw the door ajar and torchlight coming from within.

Immediately she knew something was wrong. The gatehouse was locked every night to prevent anyone from opening them without express permission from the duke.

Then she heard the turning of the winch. Slowly at first. The clank of of iron. Once, twice.

Natia peeked out from the corner to see three of her kinsmenn turning the wheel to the portcullis. She could see by the shadows the torches cast at least three more people in the room.

“Shit.” She breathed. What the hell was she supposed to do? Were they traitors? Infiltrators?

Briefly she entertained the idea of running for help but that would do no good, she was certain. By the time she got back the gate might already be open and her home open to the slaughter.

No, she was a guard, sworn to protect her home, she told herself. There was only one thing she could do.

Natia gripped the haft of her spear and raised her shield and stepped out from the corner.

Just like she had done at the beer tent, the thing that had gotten her in so much trouble. She kicked open the ajar door with all her might and ran in, shield and spear at the ready.

“What in Virtue’s name is going on here?” She screamed at the top of her lungs. “Guards! Traitors! To arms!” She shouted as she charged into the room.

The traitors at the wheel stopped to look at her, the iron chain clicking into place along the gear wheel as they turned.

Natia didn’t stop instead she just tried stabbing everything that moved. She wheeled poking with her spear in a dozen directions aiming for legs, for feet for anything she could reach.

To her surprise it worked. For about half a minute. Then she found herself encircled by the six traitors. Only one of whom bore a noticeable wound on his thigh.

Natia cursed herself for not having paid more attention during her training. Still she hoped someone had heard the racket.

“My, my, if it isn’t Arton’s lass.” A familiar voice said. Natira focused on their faces and she recognized him almost immediately. The mann who’d come to her father. Her distant cousin.

“Traitor!” She yelled.

The mann held up a hand. “Now, now. None of that. I’ll have you know I’m doing right by you and our family.”

“I don’t believe you.” Natia said. “You’re opening the gates to the enemy.”

“Yes. So they can plunder and pillage to their heart’s content. After they are done, they have assured me, the ducal chair shall be mine.” The mann replied. The others were now all holding weapons.

Her spear might have reach, but they all looked like they knew how to wield the swords and axes they bore. So her only hope was time.

“Why? Why would you betray your own like this?” Natia asked.

“Betray my own? Lass, I was the one who was betrayed! Me! Borgon! And you and your family as well! We were supposed to be royalty! Not relegated to obscurity! It was our ancestor who was supposed to be on the throne, but no! The Elders chose someone who was half an hour older with not half the wit of a trison!”

Natia didn’t hear him. Didn’t want to hear his excuses. Nothing he said could justify the chaos he’d invited. So she launched her last, desperate ploy.

She threw herself forward, charging, barreling into him. Her small stout body knocking into his. Caught off guard, she launched him against the gearwheel.

She was as close to him as anyone could be and saw the anger and fury in his face.

“You little bitch!” He spat, extricating himself from where chains had caught cloth. “You’ll pay for that.”

He backhanded her and Natia tasted iron.

“I was going to spare you and your family. You are after all kin. But now I won’t. I’ll lay your severed head at your father’s feet. I’ll make him watch as I kill his sons, one by one and then his wife. I shall make him pay for not believing in me, for not supporting me. And you know what? You will die knowing it’s all your fault.” Borgon laughed and gave a short nod to someone behind her.

Natia didn’t react at first. Not when she felt the coldness of steel. Nor when she heard the blade scrape on bone. It didn’t hurt. Not at first. In fact it just felt cold. Then she saw the red dripping down from her neck.

She coughed and the taste of iron filled her mouth once again, this time thick and viscous. She couldn’t hold it and she gagged, her blood spilling down her chin.

Natia was on the floor. Strange, she couldn’t remember lying down. When had that happened?

“Die knowing it was your fault.” Borgon repeated from some far away place, his voice strangely muted.

Natia didn’t respond. Didn’t try to. A part of her knew she was dying. And another part of her, heard something, something that made her smile.

The sound of boots.

Natia closed her eyes, feeling the cold engulf her but still smiling.

A red smile.


Natia awoke.

Huh? What?

The last thing she remembered was dying and yet here she was.

Her eyes burned as she tried to open them, they felt like they were glued shut. She tried to raise her arm to, to use her hands to pry them open but there was no response from her right side. Her left flapped weakly but wouldn’t work either.

“Easy there.” A voice said. One she recognized.

“Mu…” Natia said. She was trying to say mother but her voice wasn’t really working either.

“Hush dear, I’m here.” Her mother’s calm voice said and Natia felt a warm hand touch her cheek. “And so are you.”

“Wha…” Natia said, trying to ask what had happened. Instead her mother held a cup of water to her lips.

“There, there.” Her mother said again. “Just rest. Regain your strength.”

Natia leaned back again and let oblivion claim her again.


Three weeks later she was standing atop the wall with Lusine. Natia still felt weak and powerless but slowly she was regaining some of her former vigor.

Lusine looked like she'd been through it as well, older veteran’s face was bruised and there was a bandage around her forearm but all Natia could look at was the sight beyond the walls.

The entire plateau that had housed the Outer City was gone, reduced to a giant pit of rubble and earth.

“What happened?” Natia asked.

“The miners. They just collapsed the tunnels underneath the Outer City. Every single one of them.” Lusine said. “Estimates say about twenty thousand lives were lost, mostly the enemy and a few brave souls who stayed behind to remove keystones and support pillars.”

“What about Borgon?” Natia asked.

“Strapped him to a catapult and let him fly.” Lusine said, chuckling. “The Duke said if Borgion wanted to join the daylanders so badly, he’d send him over. Made quite the sound as he flew, let me tell you.”

Natia nodded. She could not find the strength to see the humor. She kinked her neck uncomfortably to the side.

“So what did the surgeon say?” Lusine asked.

“I’ll be lucky if I can ever move the arm again.” Natia said looking at the sling around her right arm. “Tendon’s been cut and that’s bad apparently. Never be able to hold a hammer again, let alone a quill.”

“Ah well,” Lusine said. “Look on the bright side. At least you’re a hero. A paragon of Virtue they’re calling you. A true shield of the Hrothi.”

Natia nodded.

“Yeah… Some hero.” She said bitterly.


That night she dreamt of the sound of steel and for the first time it drowned out the faces, the flames and the screams.


Part 1: The Kypiq

Part 2: The Brudvir

Part 3: The Janoa

Part 4: The Neran

Part 5: The Waerd

Part 6: The To'Resk


10/31/2017 9:11:59 PM #1
+1

Damn, pretty good. I enjoyed this one a lot.

Small error though:

"It was out ancestor who" I think out is supposed to be our. Right at the part where Borgon was telling Natia about his planned coup.


10/31/2017 9:14:37 PM #2
+1

Thx! Typos really are annoying sometimes :D


10/31/2017 9:21:15 PM #3
+1

as always another incredible tale

10/31/2017 9:27:19 PM #4
+1

Well done my friend !


10/31/2017 10:04:40 PM #5
+0

I love it, I kinda hated ya there for a moment. Well done 😘


11/1/2017 8:52:11 PM #6
+0

Great read! You did the Hrothi real good :D


Duchy of Asebe'ia Thunar

11/6/2017 8:17:59 PM #7
+0

Damn you! Are you deliberately leaving the Dras story last?! I've been waiting for it ever since you mentioned you are writing the series!

Anyways, good story as always! Gotta love they way you keep the story, characters and the world detailed with the little we know.


11/9/2017 8:46:17 PM #8
+0

Another great read, Scy. Thank you :)


4/7/2019 10:43:04 AM #9
+0

I absolutely loved this! Great read and great ideas for my Horathi! A young Horathi adventurer who meet the Paragon of Virtue and was inspired to document more stories about great Horathi like her!


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