Coming Soon (But Alas, Not Here) · 6:27pm August 8th
The war was not going well.
Seacliffe Castle had remained in place for hundreds of years, a symbol of complete and utter strength. It stood fast against Alaric the Vermillion, the great red dragon that tried to grind the whole of the world beneath his claws. It valiantly repelled the Great Brigand Fleet, who tried to conquer our lands from the sea. It had been the bulwark against the stone golems, when they had awoken from the ancient slumber foretold by the wisemen. It had even withstood – and I cannot believe this is in our historical chronicles! – the Great Chicken Plague, when a sorceress that had been spurned by the crown prince of that time set giant, flame-breathing chickens upon the castle.
I’m quite sure after the battle was over the fine folk of the land were complaining about eating nothing but chicken for weeks.
But as for this war, as I said, it was not going well. As I stood upon the now-ruined grounds of the Bountiful Peninsula that lead to Seacliffe, I could see whole sections of the grassy knoll before me gouged out by magical attacks and the grinding of countless feet, hooves, and paws across the grounds. This had been some of the most fertile land in Antherholm, and now it would take years, if not a decade, to recover. Not even the most powerful of earthen-, plant- or hedgecraft could restore this in the immediate.
Likewise, that went the same for the people: bodies lay, scattered about like sheaves of wheat cast to the wind. These were once proud subjects of the land, gentle and true; and amongst them brave knights and mages, those who dedicated their lives to protecting the realm and its peoples. So many of them were dead now and the gentler part of me wanted to break down and weep at the senseless loss of life.
I was too busy to worry about that right now, though. As I rushed forward, quick as lightning, I quickly shifted to run my sword through another one of the invaders. Finding purchase in my attack, my blade bit through the opponent’s armor and he fell, easily. Looking into the distance for another opponent, I quickly noticed a huge behemoth wielding a massive two-handed sword that I knew would spell trouble for many of the regular knights still in the fight. Gritting my teeth, I then rushed towards the brute, using my momentum to shift and twirl my body at the same time for the best angle of attack.
My sword, Steelrain, cleaved through the foe as if it were nothing, and as the two parts of him fell. Unfortunately, I overcorrected in my strike and my blade punched into the wet, muddy ground, and was held fast by the sabled loam. In trying to pull it out, I hadn’t noticed one of the enemy’s bedamned beasts, a giant attercop, rushing towards me, its beady eyes filled with murder, its fangs dripping with the poison it very much intended to end my life with.
Before I could even withdraw my longknife to defend myself, four sharp arrows cut into the fell beast. A second later, those same arrows, imbued with firecraft, set the creature ablaze, and it was almost music to my ears to hear the thing shriek as it burned to death.
A strong hand gripped my forearm, pulling me up. “Come now, little sister. No time to rest while the people need us.”
I turned to my rescuer, giving him a sweet smile as I finally yanked Steelrain free. “My thanks, Roth.” My twin brother, Hróðvitnir, or Roth, as he was known, had always been the better archer of the two of us, while I was the better swordarm; alas, neither of us had inherited our mother’s gift of magic. Born to nobility, the two of us were tasked to hold the line as was our duty to the land and our king, for we were the Vanagandr – the Wolves of Bradkirk Keep, the ones who would defend Antherholm and its people with our lives.
It had been that way since the very beginning so long ago, when Antherus the Great, the first king of Antherholm, had come to the rescue of the wolf god Loki, saving the Noble Wolf from the Great Attercops of the Bleak Forest. In gratitude, Loki offered his son Fenrir as a vassal, and Fenrir’s sister Fenris a bride. In Fenrir, Antherus found a true and loyal friend; and the old songs of the past said that there was no greater love than what Antherus and Fenris shared for one another. In time, Fenrir married a beautiful human sorceress and their children, known as the wulfkin, would become part of the fabric of Antherholmian society, taking their place alongside humans and edda. As for the children of Antherus and Fenris, while one continued along the path and became king, the younger son founded the Dukedom of Bradkirk, naming his children the Vanagandr.
Thus, the Vanagandr had become intertwined with the Antherholmian royal family, with the sons of the line growing up to be the loyal and steadfast dukes of Bradkirk Keep, while on occasion one of our womenfolk would become wedded to the crown prince and would serve as noble princesses and queens. Strangely enough, no actual wulfkin had ever sat on the Throne of Seacliffe, though that was no problem, as every member of the Antherholmian royal family – and even a couple of times the royal families of allied nations – held within them the proud blood of the Bradkirk Vanagandrs.
The tradition held strong even into these times: our father, Gareth, was the current Duke of Bradkirk, the right hand and best friend to His Majesty, King Bretagne. Additionally, while I had initially been set to be the betrothed of the crown prince, by the time one was born, it had made more sense to engage him to the daughter of the Count of Swiftford, instead. That was fine by me, though; Crown Prince Arturius treated me like an older sister, and I absolutely adored both Arturius and his future bride, Violaine. Instead, I found myself apprenticed under Her Highness Queen Blanchefleur, who also served as the general of the Antherholmian army. Queen Blanche – no, Aunt Blanche – loved me and Roth as if we were her own, and we did the same.
In time, I had become captain of the Wolfguard, the handpicked knights that defended the royal family and served as the king’s justice throughout the land. Roth was currently my second, though in time he would inherit our father’s position as the next duke. And while I was content as the captain of the Wolfguard, I had often heard I’d caught the eyes of some noble scions of note, such as the eldest son of Count Nossex and the second son of Viscount Corland.
Essentially, life was grand, and things couldn’t be better.
And now it was going all to hell.
C O M I N G S O O N
(stay tuned for details)
