The Slate – The Eye of the Storm.

‘Ebon, Sweet Ebon, Orion fled in shame from the lands of Maria and now we have peace. The King has ordered the driving of the remaining Marok northward and the construction of a fortress at the only pass an army can pass through safely. Ebon thrives and sits as the most prestigious of the southern City-States. The boy grows attached with the Queen and thrives under the guiding hand of them. The King shall return him to lead the Kerridan lands as his father had. ‘  

Life moved on, time went by Ebon grew and the Marok licked their wounds in their northern homeland. The Kerridan had settled under the regency of their Queen who regularly traveled to their lands and back to her son in Ebon. Peace had been assured and lasted for over a decade when the boy Harmon had nearly reached his majority the Queen of Ebon had taken with child.  

Life was wonderful and the King had seen the birth of his nephew Roe Hathewaye. The building of a new amphitheater and forged closer treaties with even the most distant southern city-states.   

Their beloved adopted son went on to rule his homeland he had wept that he’d leave for days before his majority. But the shift of manhood was immediate, and he hide his pain and sorrow from that point.  

It came a month later a frantic runner entered the throne room of the Ebon palace. “Your Majesty. The Marok have attacked they lead their Wrightmark allies through the pass. The rider said men climbed the rear walls and attacked while the Marok drew their attention from the front. They never thought the Marok would find a way past the mountains.” 

“Duncan! Rally the legions and the levies. We will not allow the Marok to retake their conquests.” The King rose from his throne and approached his love pressing a kiss upon her cheek and the brow of his newborn son.  “My light, my love, I must ride out and protect our hearth and home. The lives of our people. Of our friends.” 

She kissed him back upon the lips. “Then go oh king of my heart. Go with my blessing and my favor.” She tucked in a cloth with her scent into his sash and pressed into it her lips onto it. The two held each other for a moment, then two, and finally at the end of the third parted. “Keep both of you safe.” He then ordered the centurion of the palace guard to gather runners to rally support from the other city-states and pulled upon the bronze armor, took up the grey blade of the Herald, and prepared his chariot. He brought along the First and Second Legions, leaving the Third to protect Ebon. He left the levies to rally wasting no time led his legions forward to block the path of the Marok from raiding and pillaging the outskirts of his lands.  He met up with the half the Fourth Legion that was housed at small fort between the Pass and Ebon to keep the roads free of bandits. Remnants from the pass had rallied there and he took them into his numbers. He set his forces at the only major bridge across the Mirin River. 

They dug defenses and prepared for the Marok hordes after three days the levies arrived as did warriors from the Kerridan led by Harmon. 

“Hail father.” Harmon called from his chariot; another man held the reins while Harmon prepared his bow.  

Something felt off about him. His eyes had grown cold. “Hello King Harmon.” He gave a respectful bow which Harmon returned. “I am proud that you can mobilize your men so quickly.” 

“Thank you. The Kerridan are always ready for war.” Soon minor forces arrived from the other city-states.  

“The Marok should have arrived before our allies.”  

“I have forces harassing them.” Harmon responded. 

 After a few more days the Marok massed on the other side of the Mirin. The giant Marok, standing ten feet tall, and their Wrighmark servants prepared their own defenses, and the sides exchanged hails of slingstones. Marok lobbed larger stones across the river from massive slings. They exchanged volleys and a few arrows flew in from the Wrightmark.  

The Marok ordered the Wrightmark forward in a formation with raised shields as Marok waded across the river. The coalition battered them as they crossed the river and soon engaged their weathered formations. 

The King looked on. “Somethings wrong.” he ordered his men to reinforce their flanks and rear. “Make sure the reserves are read.” Panic reached his ears.  

“Sire! Chariots on the flank, I know not what has happened to the outriders.”  

“Reposition the flanks!” He called. “Where are my scouts? Chariots meet the foe in their charge!” He led his chariot forward to meet the foes in one flank. 

The King had met the foe’s charge and with blessed blade in hand cleaved through their numbers. He fought against the Wrightmark, then fended of a Marok, and felt the sting of stone and arrow.  He felt his armor dent and the missile tore through bronze and into his shoulder. He threw from the back of his chariot javelins and with his guard broke the left flank. The Marok fled back across the river to the defenses and dug in as their reserves advanced to reinforce their position from counterattack. 

The King set sentries and his soldiers camped for the night. He was shaken that the Marok forces had killed or captured his outriders without being noticed as they had never returned. The King rested his head for the night his wounds cleaned. His dominate arm difficult to move from his shoulder wound. During the embrace of the night the screams came, and bronze clashed through the camp. The King rose drew his dagger from under his bedding as a Kerridan warrior stormed into his tent the darker interior of his tent. He kicked out his knee before his eyes adjusted to the darkness and rolled up driving the blade into his groin severing blood vessels and arteries as he drove it down to and along his thigh. He stumbled through the chaos of the camp, and the Marok launched their raid. Duncan had met Trei fighting through spread out Kerridan leading a small group of legionaries. The two rallied their men and slaughtered the Kerridan traitors far too easily. They met the Marok as their formation met the fortifications of the camp and met the rallied coalition forces. The fighting was brutal, but the already worn Marok broke their formation collapsed.