The Great War Aftermath – Mystakeen

Master Inquisitrix Sylvara Astra heaved a heavy crate up onto her shoulder with surprising ease. Multiple visits to Hale to repair everything from missing limbs to minor cuts had left her changed. She was yet to decide if those changes were in any way positive in the long term. At the time, war and the threat of the avatar left her eager to visit the heretical healer.

Now, she was left to live the rest of her life with the abnormalities and any complications that arose from their presence.

So far, they were coming in handy.

Sylvara dropped the crate, setting it down hard enough to crack the wooden planks. Carrots and chard spilled out, rolling across the ground. A young elf boy who had come from Fortress Al-Mir scampered after the few that got a little too far while a pair of villagers lowered a similar crate to the ground with far more finesse.

“Thank you so much!”

Turning, Sylvara found a haggard fellow approaching with an almost desperate smile on his face. She didn’t recognize him in specific, but judging by his worn clothes and the way his skin was a bit too loose on his face and neck, he was one of the refugees. The villages around Woodly Rhyme had evacuated for the most part during Evestani’s first push through Mystakeen, but not everyone had managed to get to Cliff or one of the other safe havens. Some had to weather the invasion out in the wilderness, others tried to stick it out in their villages even as Evestani sent out raiding parties to gather food and supplies.

Sylvara gave the man a nod, acknowledging his gratitude. “It’s the least we can do,” she replied.

The man reached forward, intent on shaking her hand. That intent stopped abruptly once he caught sight of the hand he was reaching toward. Sylvara suppressed a sigh as he quickly averted his eyes and redirected his hands to a few of the carrots on the ground. “We’ll get a stew going for this evening. Will the Master Inquisitrix be joining us?”

“I will not,” Sylvara said, sparing the man her continued presence. Inquisitors typically weren’t wanted at the best of times, so the sudden flicker of relief on his face wasn’t much of a surprise even if it was directed more toward her otherness this time. “There are others in need of aid.”

“Of course, of course,” he murmured, waving over the two villagers who assisted Sylvara in delivering the crates. He gave them a few quick instructions on what to store and what to prepare for the evening’s meal.

Sylvara lingered for a moment, watching the young Yavin deposit his collected vegetables on top of the intact crate. She wasn’t sure why, exactly, he had come along with her. She wasn’t sure why, exactly, she had allowed him to come. They were only delivering supplies. There was no expected danger. Even if there was danger, Sylvara had confidence in her own abilities against anything less than an avatar. Even still, the boy wasn’t particularly useful.

He just wanted to help out in whatever way he could. She supposed she had allowed him along to encourage that trait, not suppress it.

He grinned up at her, smiling like he expected some praise for his hard work.

“We heard rumors about the Abbey sending people to help out,” the refugee said, saving Sylvara from having to interact with a child. “We didn’t expect an inquisitor.”

“The Inquisitorial Order has always helped the people of the Greater Kingdom,” she answered as diplomatically as possible. “True, inquisitors usually deal with eliminating danger from unusual magics or heretics, but eliminating the danger of starvation is just as valid. There are many ways of helping others.”

“Thank you all the same,” the refugee said, holding out his hand once more.

After a brief hesitation, Sylvara shook his hand, careful to keep her grip light.

He still let go rather quickly, in her opinion, but she didn’t mind. Turning, she frowned down at her little tag-along. “Come, Yavin. We have more supplies to deliver.”

“I was thinking,” Yavin said softly as they walked away from the refugee camp, “you’re one of Arkk’s trusted commanders, right?”

“I work with Arkk, at least so long as he is no threat to the people. I do not work for him.”

“Still, you’re part of the main group. I’ve been with him long enough to know these things,” he said with a smile, undaunted by her response. “Delivery jobs like these would normally be delegated.”

Sylvara slowed somewhat, looking back at the camp. The camp sprawled out amidst the dense woods, a patchwork of makeshift tents and hastily constructed shelters. The remnants of three separate villages all gathered together. Families huddled together around the large fire pit in the center. Some children darted between the tents, playing games despite the hardships.

She wasn’t sure if they would all split off to try to return to their homes or if they would stay banded together, forming a new village right here. Some people had started up small farming plots. Not enough to feed the entire place, but enough to get through some hardships if supplies like the crates delivered today were interrupted.

“Now,” Sylvara said slowly, “perhaps more than ever, it is important for the people to see aid, support, and—perhaps most importantly—structure. Post-war periods are notoriously volatile. The collapse of old orders and the emergence of power vacuums breed revolts, rebellions, and criminal behavior. People are desperate, often left with nothing but their grievances. It wouldn’t be uncommon for a group like that to turn to raiding to solve their needs… or to become victims of another group’s raid.

“Our presence serves as a reminder that there is a path to return to normalcy. It isn’t enough to fight. You must win the peace that follows the fight.”

She looked down at Yavin, noting his sage nod. She didn’t expect him to understand, but he seemed satisfied. A good thing as Sylvara wasn’t all that interested in figuring out a simpler way of explaining. That was simple enough as it was.

She was an inquisitor, not an abbess. Instructing children was not in her job description.

“In any case, delivering supplies might seem like a trivial task for someone in my position, but, in a way, it is something suited for no one better than a high-ranking member of the Abbey. And Company Al-Mir, I suppose,” she added at Yavin’s look.

“Are you leaving us? Company Al-Mir?”

“I never intended to stay. Arkk and I shared a goal of defeating the avatar. We accomplished that. There is little tying me to him now, though I am of course willing to aid people using his resources.”

“Nyala wants to stay and learn to fight better from everyone else. Lexa, mostly, and the dark elves,” he said, entirely unbidden. He put on a small scowl at that before drawing in a light breath and smiling. “I thought I would try to leave. Alya offered to help, but I didn’t really want to leave Nyala behind. If we do more things like this,” he waved a hand back toward the refugee camp, “I wouldn’t mind sticking around too.”

“An admirable mindset,” Sylvara said, not quite sure why the young elf was telling her all this. “If more people were interested in helping rather than fighting, the world would be a kinder place.”

“Then let’s go help more people!”

“Sure thing, kid. Sure thing.”

---

“Prisoner 11037. Step forward.”

Chains rattled and clanked as Prisoner 11037 did nothing of the sort. She snarled and strained, pulling against the heavy metal links that bound her to the floor. A manic fervor in her eyes intensified as she fought to reach the adjudicator. Several cuts in the crown of her head split open once again, leading to fresh blood dripping down to join the dried remnants of the last time her wounds opened.

Prince Cedric Valorian Lafoar watched with a frown, standing several paces back from the adjudicator.

“You stand before my tribunal after mutilating three of your fellow countrymen and yourself for the purpose of summoning a so-called god into the prison camp, presumably to aid in escape.”

Prisoner 11037 let out a deranged laugh, her voice echoing off the stone walls of the tribunal chamber. Her eyes, wild and unfocused, shifted from the adjudicator to fixate on Prince Cedric. He noted the brief look of relief on the adjudicator’s face once the prisoner’s attentions were off him but did not otherwise move or acknowledge the proceedings.

“You think you can judge me?” she spat in a heavy accent, her voice hoarse yet fervent. “You know nothing of His will—you are blind to—”

“Your god is dead,” Cedric said without a hint of emotion. “Rumors of his godhood were grossly exaggerated.”

Prisoner 11037 didn’t falter. She grinned, chains clanking as she drew herself up. Her voice projected authority despite her compromising position as she spoke. “He will speak through me. When He does, you will tremble and cower and wish to be granted a Golden demise.”

The adjudicator glanced at Cedric. “It seems clear that she is beyond reason,” he said quietly.

It was an annoyance. Most of the survivors from Evestani wanted little more than to return home. Most had been dragged out here, conscripted by the lords of the lands to feed the avatar’s war force. Most were sensible and kept their heads down, hoping that Arkk and his men would release them rather than expend the resources to keep them incarcerated indefinitely. They didn’t know of the true level of resources the magical fortresses could provide, especially with no war draining their coffers.

Then there were the zealots.

Not all were as far gone as 11037, but a large portion of Evestani’s forces believed. The avatar had set himself up as their god for centuries. It wasn’t surprising that people who had witnessed him perform such miraculous and powerful magic saw him as a higher power. Cedric had a hard time understanding the feeling. He wasn’t the kind of person who could ever be enamored with displays of might. Then again, he had enough experience with powerful beings to shrug off most of what he had seen accomplished by Arkk and his allies and enemies. These people would have been indoctrinated from childhood.

“Off with her head.”

“Sir,” the adjudicator said, a note of protest in his voice. “Arkk won’t—”

“Arkk isn’t here, nor does he command me. But if he wishes for me to take a number of these prisoners off his hands, I am more than happy to oblige.”

“I don’t think this is what he meant.”

“No,” Cedric said with a scoff. “Of course not. He thought I might return them to Evestani while I was already on my way there. As if I am willing to travel with an enemy army at my side, just waiting for them to rise up and try to stab me in the back.

“If he wishes to rid himself of these prisoners, there are two ways to go about it. Either kill them all or snuff out any thought of rebellion.”

Cedric stepped forward, glaring down at 11037 from his elevated position. Despite hearing his edict, she showed no fear. No sign that an impending decapitation bothered her at all. Which was exactly why it was necessary. Zealotry allowed no room for reason.

“Take care to not damage the markings around her skull. Ensure her head is preserved with whatever spells or alchemy are available, then mount her head on a pike where all the prisoners can see. Do the same to anyone bearing those markings,” Cedric said in a disinterested tone of voice as if he were discussing nothing more interesting than the weather. “The captives must be made aware that their god is dead and will not be coming to rescue them.”

The adjudicator swallowed hard, uneasy with the decree. He would likely run off to Arkk, if he could find the elusive man, and ask for permission first. To the best of Cedric’s knowledge, he wasn’t associated with Company Al-Mir, but rather a city official of Elmshadow now returned to his post. Even still, Arkk’s word carried weight and respect in these parts of Mystakeen. More than Cedric’s.

Cedric considered his options. A flickering thought through his mind encouraged him to undermine Arkk to the best of his abilities, ripping the entire nation out from under the man. But Arkk’s power was not to be underestimated. It would end in a long, bloody campaign that Cedric lacked the time to engage with. Not if he wished to fully annex Evestani this generation. Arkk and his puppet, Katja, could claim Mystakeen so long as they paid lip service to Chernlock, which they would if they wished to avoid a war coming from all sides.

Perhaps if Mags were still at his side, Cedric would take a different route. The demon was dead now, having bitten off more than he could chew against the Eternal Empress. Or so said the reports. The only actual witnesses to Mags’ fight with the Empress were Arkk and Company Al-Mir. Cedric had suspicions about their veracity.

It was strange. He never thought he would miss the demon. Mags had been the last surviving remnant of his beloved Jewel—a parting gift to ensure Cedric’s success in Vaales even as his wife succumbed to a beastman poison. Mags had done more than enough to tarnish his memory of Jewel that he couldn’t see Mags as some lingering part of her. Maybe at the start. Not anymore.

Yet…

Yet Mags would have leaped down from the adjudication table and removed the prisoner’s head from her shoulders before Cedric had even finished speaking.

Mags was still out there. Demons didn’t die when they were killed, they just returned home. To the best of his knowledge, there was no way to summon a specific demon. Even if there was, Mags wouldn’t be the same Mags that Cedric knew. Not without his wife’s contract binding him. The exact specifications of Jewel’s contract with Mags weren’t known to him. Not in full. If he slipped up in crafting a new contract, even despite their history together—perhaps because of their history—he knew Mags would kill him without hesitation.

Lips pressed together, Cedric turned from the prisoner. “You must adjudicate. Not to obey orders,” he said, no longer caring. He wouldn’t be taking the prisoners back to Evestani in any case. “I have given my recommendation. Nothing more.”

With that, he left the tribunal chambers, letting the heavy iron door slam shut behind him.

An old, tuskless orc leaned against the wall outside the chamber, chuckling lightly like he knew what had occurred within. “You think that’s bad, you should see the Empire prisoners.”

“I wasn’t aware there were any,” Cedric said, not breaking stride.

“Most here were lost to the Infinite Maze protecting the tower’s legs. We haven’t been able to find them. Probably starved by now,” the orc said, shoving off the wall with another low chuckle. “Most at Al-Mir fought to the death; some did end up surrendering.”

“I’m more concerned with the Empire itself rather than any prisoners,” Cedric said. “Their nation is far off and difficult to gather information from. All we know is that this was a small detachment of their army enlisted to support Evestani. I can see retaliation in the future for slaughtering their empress. It is vital that we quell any thought of rebellion from our territories while shoring up the northern defenses.”

Another reason to leave Arkk alone for the time being. The man would undoubtedly be the bulwark upon which the Empire would crash if they decided to seek revenge.

A tumultuous future lay in store for them. While samples of the Empire’s armor had gone to Chernlock in the hopes of outfitting their nation’s soldiers with similar gear in preparation for a possible war, it was entirely possible that the Empire would strike sooner rather than later.

In his experience, a leader gone, especially one as central and seemingly hands-on as the Eternal Empress, would leave a time of chaos as any subordinates scrambled to fight off their peers and take control. That should buy them time. If it was true. They simply didn’t know. The oracles were having a hard time gathering information on the Eternal Empire and crossing an entire ocean for spies wasn’t something that could be done in short order.

It could be that the new leader would decide to ignore what happened entirely, choosing to focus on problems at home rather than strike out in another war that could easily end with their defeat now that they lacked their Eternal Empress.

Only time would tell.

They had to prepare for the worst-case scenario.

It was another reason they needed Evestani under their control. It was a wealthy nation, as expected of the home of the Golden Order. Just melting down their temples and palaces alone would fund a hundred armies for a hundred years.

Two weeks.

Cedric had two weeks left in Elmshadow, resupplying and recuperating before pushing through on the rest of the journey to Evestani. The land between the nations was sparse and practically depopulated in the wake of Evestani’s army. They wouldn’t be able to get supplies or aid easily until they reached their army at the border of Evestani.

Then his real work would begin.