Public Burdens of Leadership

[Vyona of the Wolf Clan]

Vyona laughed a fierce laugh in a mocking savage manner as the Troll barrel charged her. Instead of trying to meet the charge she spun kicked out at the trolls knee joint the troll tumbled to the ground. Vyona brought her great axe down on the back of the trolls neck haulting the great blade just before the blow would have severed the trolls head.

“Yield!” Vyona commanded with a growl.

“Yield.” The troll confirmed.

Vyona nodded glad she wouldn’t have to kill the troll. The great hulking brutes were far to useful on the battlefield, but she had been challenged for leadership so she had to answer in single combat. It would have been a pity to kill such a valuable member of her Gladiators however new to her ranks. Still challenges to her rule could not be tolerated. If it had been necessary Vyona would have killed the troll albeit with a sense of annoyance, irritation and frustration at the waste of valuable troops.

“Well fought!” Vyona laughed and clapped the troll on the back.

Her Gladiators cheered there leaders triumph. Vyona beamed. The duel had served other purposes of course. For one it provided some small entertainment for her troops, for another it reminded the rest why they followed her, for another it was a good distraction for herself. It seemed she barely got any chance for a good workout anymore. Forever spending her days looking over reports, scouts, intelligence, supplies, pay, hospice, horses, discipline. You name it there was a report for it all of which demanded her immediate attention according to her quartermaster.

If the man wasn’t half as useful as he was Vyona would have cheerfully cleaved her great battle axe through his head months ago.

What they really needed was a battle. Her Gladiators were fighters, used to living day by day every day a gift not to be wasted, lest they fall in the sands the next, but they were still fighters, fighters who while not quite marching in the ranks of other soldiers were fast becoming an Elite unit in the Night Kings armies. Fighters on leave for too long grew bored with nothing to do, nothing to focus their restless energy. There was only so much drinking and whoring that they could do.

Vyona had used the rest to replenish her ranks from the nearby fighting pits, including the Troll she had just fought who would make a valuable addition to the shock troops alongside her Ogres. In the meantime she had set her other troops to learning firearms. That last battle had been an education with cavalry circling just out of range firing into her square formation. She needed guns of her own to fire back. She was also desperately aware she needed her own scouts. Vyona herself couldn’t do it, but she needed troops who could range in front of the main body. Unfortunately Gladiators were largely absent of those skills. Oh there were a few captured on various frontiers like herself, but for the most part Gladiators fought up close and personal. Useful for centre line tactics, but if Vyona wanted to continue to grow her force she would need more variety.

Vyona sighed wishing Sylvia were here she could use some rough but ultimately relaxing bed sport.

“Commander!”

Vyona bit back a curse of her ancestors. It was her quartermaster.

“There are several reports that require your immediate attention.” The nasal squirrel of a man demanded.

Vyona wondered what his brains would look like on her axe.

 

[Euthanor Nachimar]

The Night King's domain was swelling by each passing moon, in a rate much to Euthanor's surprise. The Night Court's efficiency in battle, combined with the elegantly structured labyrinth of administration and fiefdoms, all blending in to a rather chaotic mix, for one first eyeing the miscreation. For Euthanor, it had been a rather fruitful undertaking, regardless the high risk he faced. For the Cult, the Night Court was a ghost enemy; A speculatory representation of its structure and machinations may have been somewhere in the Spires of Fuernburg, yet his insights now would illuminate aspects never thought existent.
His sacrifice, of course, was that he had to be an agent of the Night, for the King and his minions not to suspect the Plague Doctor's true purposes. That, given what was at stake, he was more than willing to accomodate.

The fighting in Sparnia had dissipated, with the upcoming conflict with the Alurmanat Empire still at the works, and a promise of violence farther to the distant North; A common enemy, Euthanor reasoned, between two mortal enemies. Something he looked forward to...

This night, he found himself wandering in the large gladiator camp of the She-Warlord, Vyona. Opportunists and marauders, her ranks were arguably among the most diverse he had encountered. Their efficiency, although with role limited, high enough for him to acknowledge. A further study, for sure...

"Your ways are much different to those of the North." he commented Vyona, aiming to attract her attention as she passed by, following the typically weak, in comparison, scribe, or whatever that piece of a man claimed to be within this den of cutthroats. "Your warriors work wanders with the blade and the axe. If only their gear could spark just a bit more, the coin they'd make would be a sight to behold!"

He allowed the word of tongue do the heavy lifting. It was known around the world that the Iron Cult favoured blackpowder over the more archaic, in their view, ways of conducting wars. Alas, such methods were not as widespread this far South. Unless....

"Ever considered testing more.... modern ways of doing battle?"

 

[Vyona of the Wolf Clan]

Vyona frowned and signed the papers the quartermaster put in front of her requisitions, aquistions, division of spoils, supplies. They all needed paperwork. Vyona had long ago reluctantly conceded empires were built on paperwork as much as blades. Her people were the fiercest warriors in the world, even their enemies acknowledged that. If they weren’t Vyona wouldn’t have been so highly valued in the arena or on the battlefield. Perhaps if they’d had paperwork they wouldn’t have been slaughtered.

Once the Quartermaster was done finally shoving pieces of paper into her face Vyona relaxed, but made a mental note to hire a scribe in the next town to make sure the Quartermaster wasn’t cheating her.

Then another cost of modern warfare came apparent. A pedlar selling his wares. She sighed. Not even a respectable pedlar like a whore which might have actually been of some use.

“And what coin are you hoping to make this day doctor?” Vyona asked with a grunt and a bored look.

Vyona’s eyes narrowed when he mentioned modern warfare.

“What do you know of modern warfare?” Vyona asked suspiciously

What did this cretin know of modern warfare? Vyona considered the tantalising offer. She’d give him this much he knew the market she was interested in. Still did she want to be shaken for coin on empty promises or listen to the man blather about how he could make her the fiercest commander in the Sparnian army.

Vyona grunted she couldn’t afford not to hear him out. The last battle had shown her how badly her and her Gladiators were outdated. Oh they did well enough against the pikes, but the muskets had cost them dearly.

If this man could deliver to her those weapons so her men could train with them and use them on the battlefield. Well then it was worth a few moments of irritation. Still that didn’t mean she had to be patient. Which had never been her strong suit in any case. Unless she was hunting. Ancestors she could use a good hunt.

“Speak plainly doctor and know if this is trickery I’ll gut you where you stand.”

 

[Euthanor Nachimar]

The Plague Doctor's beaked mask nodded to Vyona's inquiry. He still evaluated her as a character and potential ally, knowing full well she served as an asset in the mystic Night Court. She was a woman of action; A mere barbarian, to Euthanor's eyes, and yet this wasn't here nor there. She had a role to play and he would see it through.

What do you know of modern warfare?

The very question reverberated in his mind. For a moment, it struck him with the reality of his position, his goals, his purpose, and how these had but devolved into an abominable twist of fate. He tilted his head, gesturing with his gloved hand as he spoke, swallowing the grim realities he faced to focus on the task at hand.

"I know of it, for I was there when it was invented. I know its ways, its reason, its tactics, its secrets, for my mentors in the Spires of Fuernburg designed it, before my eyes."

The pride of an Iron Cult Noble; A Plague Doctor, especially, was clear in his voice. Contained, yet metal in his point and sharp to emphasize the gravity of his sentances.

"I know how the nations use the musket and the arquebus, the pike and the landship, for I have been studying them for decades. Knowing your enemy, is half the battle. And I happen to know the trade routes, both legal and smuggling, through which entire shipments of rifles and other modern weapons are transported across the West. One such shipment alone, and someone capable of trainning your troops in its use, could bring much difference in the battlefield."

 

[Vyona of the Wolf Clan]

Vyona considered the Plague Doctor for a few moments. It still sounded like he was selling something, it also sounded too good to be true. Here she was just thinking about how her men needed modern weaponry, tactics, knowledge and someone comes seemingly out of nowhere and offers it to her on a silver platter.

Vyona was suspicious of the man, but… she couldn’t afford not to. Or at least to hear him out, to see if it was a legitimate offer. If it was it could mean the difference between life and death victory and defeat freedom and slavery. Vyona would not go back to that no matter the cost.

Even if it was listening to an offer from someone she suspects. Vyona grunted and swallowed her pride.

“How much would such a service cost?” Vyona asked grudgingly.

Already in her minds eye she was picturing her humans firing their rifles while her ogre’s and trolls held of infantry and cavalry. She also was picturing sharpshooters picking off enemy officers adding to the chaos of battle.

“Tell me can rifles be made to scale? My Ogre’s and Trolls could do with something with a bit more kick.” Vyona barked a bit of laughter. “A light cannon maybe.”

Vyona grinned.

“First though who are you? Why do you offer to help?” Vyona asked cautiously. “Men who come out of thin air and offer exactly what I want make me nervous.”

Though Vyona supposed Sylvia and the Night Court had done that too when they had offered her her freedom, a war to fight as well as a mutual enemy. So sometimes it turned out to be a good thing, a great thing even. Hopefully this was another of those times. If not she’d make good on her promise and gut the little doctor where he stood.

 

[Euthanor Nachimar]

Euthanor placed the wooden rod infront of him and rested both his gloved hands on its top. His body, though covered by layers of black cloth, hinted nothing to any tension, or sentiment by the Plague Doctor. He simply observed, listening in what seemed bottomless reserves of patience. Whether he weathered the storms as they came, or he had a specific plot in his mind which eventually unfolded, one could only guess.

"It would not be much about a set price." He nodded. "It would be more of an endeavour, which would gradually yield a benefit, rather than a service one can simply purchase. Certain things, in this world, are more precious than simply metal coins made of minerals rare, to the common eye."

Vyona's interest was captured; Euthanor knew thus much when she delved into questions on the very ability of the firearms.

"The art of crafting such weapons of war is rooted deep in my culture. I know places that can make anything, and individuals who can smuggle anything. Given the right price paid, your warriors could welcome the thrill of battle with blazes."

The most obvious, to him, inquiry came last. It impressed him, though his mind was not as biased as lesser scientists of his nation, he too occasionally befell to suprestition and other racial barriers common across Erova. Alas, Euthanor refused to judge based on rumours. It was his very role, and profession, to study and explore information available.

"I am Euthanor Nachimar. A companion of King Marcus Aumont. I have made my quest to practice the expertise I posses for the betterment of the King's Empire-to-be. I have notice you and your Gladiators, ever since the battle in Rios. It is my belief that with a little aid from an expert, and advice on the modern war, your bands could become a game-changing asset to the Court of King Marcus. Of course, one such commander would enjoy certain benefits, given their role."

He was not hesitent to expose his plan to Vyona. The Night Court might have been centuries old, though Espada was now forming, which allowed for several voids within its nobility. Those who capitalized on it, could potentially be elevated prior to the settling of the new court of Espada. Apparently, Euthanor did not lose time when it came to vision.

"This is something that can happen. Though, to pull this through, I would require a certain skillset you and your gladiators seem to possess."

 

[Vyona of the Wolf Clan]

Vyona grew impatient by the plague doctors manner of speech. It was vague, and misleading without a clear answer or direct statement of what he want in exchange of the firearms. Vyona withheld a growl knowing it would only hurt the negotiations. The doctor would think her stupid and continue trying to evade and confuse her. It was one of the aspects of left out here Vyona still hadn’t gotten used to.

Except perhaps in poems, sagas, songs and spells- which were mainly spoken by the shamans anyway- her people spoke plainly and directly. You wanted something from another person you said so directly. Traded for it. If they refused to give it you either backed down or fought for it. You won it was yours. You lost and whatever you’d put up for collateral of the fight was now the other persons. It was fast, direct, efficient and fair. At least from Vyona’s stand point who had rarely lost a fight. It had helped that she was a beauty and had only had to offer herself as collateral for a night.

Vyona waited with fading patience and increasing frustration. What did this man want? Was he trying to find a tactful way of saying he wanted Vyona to fight for him. If so just say so! She was a mercenary a fight for firearms was a fair trade. She’d have appreciated a plain spoken offer of trade for services rather than this flowery beat around the bush not getting to the point double speak.

Finally he gave a straight answer as to who he was and whom he served. Good at least that meant this contract didn’t conflict with her current contract with the Night King. She’d have had to refuse if it had and she really wanted those firearms.

Vyona had seen how effective the weapons were on the field of battle, but also knew how complex they were to use effectively, as well as maintain their quality while in use. Their was oil, flints, powder, cotton, those little sticks to push the ball down, they had to stay dry she knew. She needed to know all the working of a firearm so that she could be an expert in them.

She refused to be the outmatched out armed barbarian any longer. Such a mentality had cost her tribe and her people dearly. It was a new modern world of warfare. Vyona intended to become one of the greatest commanders in the modern world for that she needed firearms and silly little men like the doctor.

She had the foolish thought the man was trying to charm her into his bed. If so Vyona shrugged to herself it would be worth it for the firearms, but she dismissed the thought the man seemed too… composed.

Vyona let out a snorting grunt of a sigh.

“Speak plainly Doctor. What do you wish me to do for the firearms?” Vyona finally relented and asked. “And once I have them. I’ll need someone to train me and my Gladiators in their use and upkeep.”

 

[Euthanor Nachimar]

The frustration of the she-orc was not lost in the Plague Doctor. On the contrary, his mind registered the simplicity of her, attributing such mentality to her culture, of which he knew nothing of, for the time being. Another fine exploration, this would be, he thought to himself.
He nodded to her, in agreement to what she said. Indeed, such an endeavour would not be a one-time job. And, truth be told, it was in his own agenda, for this quest he initiated, to establish a connection based on necessity, and not favour, when it came to Vyona herself. Regardless how ruthless or brutal the Night Court could be, Marcus had a relation of interest, as much as favour with Euthanor, given he represented the one single most accessible hook the Night Court could posses, against the Iron Cult and its labyrinthic workings... Alas, Vyona was crafted by a different smith. The anvil was of rough and primitive violence, and the hammer of strength and might made right.

This, was a card that, in such a game like that played between those of the Night Court, knowledge could easily shift support...


"To gain access to such weaponry, we will require resources and contact with hostile and, in most cases, well-guarded locations." Euthanor explained. "I may provide the knowledge on this quest, while you and your Gladiators may provide the muscle. After we get what is needed, I will be able to craft such weapons, and show you and your Gladiators how to use them, and those we will get directly from the source. Just like the mace and the sword you are accustomed to, these weapons too require maintenance. Just... abit more elegant in nature."

This was not the first time he explained the concept of modern war to savages... This would, potentially, not be the first time the latter failed to adapt. Though, in this particular case, Euthanor had high hopes of the, up to now, rather capable Vyona and her merry band of cutthroats. Evolution, he thought, was part of nature and a bane to all things false. She could become a mighty asset. If he involved himself enough with the establishment of her's as one, given the primitive codes of honour she most likely embraced, his part in her ascension would not go without credit... And in such times, in such company, one could not turn down a potential ally.

"I am not the warrior you are." he added. "My strength is not in muscle, but in mind. I have knowledge that I can offer. What I shall require, for that, will simply be assistance in the field in which I lack. Muscle. Should you chip that in, then we have an accord from which we will both benefit. Besides... We do have the same allegiance, no?"