A/N: Before we get started with the narrative, I'd like to point out that these updates won't conform to any proper schedule. I write when I'm able to and forcing it usually leads to pages being scrapped when I reread something.
These chapters won't really differ in length to those found on the server website but the old chapters posted here will more thoroughly beta read for continuity and grammatical errors.
STORMONT. A SECOND AGE NARRATIVE
The Age of Heroes
The sun blazed over head as they rode out to the arid badlands. They had pushed through a wind storm earlier that morning and thankfully it had cleared by the time the rearguard had crossed into the badlands. Forced to abandon their strongest mounts due to the wyverns' strange behaviour, most were utilising Equus, Argentavis, and even Unicorns. A Brontosaurus strode among the horde of creatures, followed by riderless Equus that would act as replacement mounts for those predicted to be lost in the fighting. The Brontosaurus was easily the largest creature present among the masses and it was to serve as the mobile command center, its platform saddle built up as a small but well stocked supply unit. A look out with a radio and spyglass sat atop the small structure and kept their sights on the horizon while a small team of Argentavis and Gryphon riders circled the army. The journey had been more difficult than anticipated without their wyverns, but they had planned long and hard for this coming battle. They wouldn't let something like this stop them now.
While the date had only been set for about a month, it seemed as if the whole of Andorra had been anticipating this fight for over a year. The so-called prophet Azir had set them on this path when they had first learned of the Dark Lord and his plans. Now, they had gathered the peoples of the land that could (and would) fight and their numbers were immense.
There were commanders present from most of the prevailing Kingdoms of the continent, each leading their own peoples. Even a few from the smaller settlements and tribes that had worked hard against the Dark Lord took pride of place among the strong-standing Kingdoms. The still newly dubbed Kingdom of Gaelach, though extremely small in total numbers, made up the majority of the command structure. Queen Elia Thrace and Lord Protector Oliver Mercer rode at the very front of the column, alongside Lady Aserah, Queen of the White Walkers, Sindarin the Pathfinder, Tribe Master Oghren of the Chargers, and Bertsson of Blackrock Trading (who wielded the late Kiánard Logan’s sword in tribute to his friend).
Though the journey through the badlands was harsh, they knew where they were going and experience lead them through the crags and hills between Elyria and the sands. Several bridges were quickly erected for crossing the deep canyon there, allowing the army time to rest before proceeding. Dust rose around them, filling the air and obscuring the full extent of the army’s size as their feet pounded against the scorched earth.
Eventually, the vanguard reached the river that bisected the dry, barren hills from the sandy dunes of the desert as the sun reached its zenith. The waters were at their shallowest here, and even those without mounts could cross with little difficulty.
Mercer called a halt to their advance and surveyed their surroundings. A small boat came to a stop just downriver of the bridge, and the Golem known as Kal gave a grumble as she shifted on the now-grounded boat. Korbin carefully lead her ashore, and the general of the Gaelicans joined his brothers- and sisters-in-arms at the fore of the army. They were greeted warmly, however briefly, before everyone’s attention turned to the matter at hand.
It had been the intention to set up camp at the old House of Wolves outpost where a war camp had first been constructed. However it seemed they were beaten to the punch, for across the shallow expanse of water stood two figures clad in black armour.
With a few words spoken between the commanders and Queens, several of their number dismounted and stepped forward. First Mercer, and then Oghren, Sindarin and Bert began to cross the waters.
“So the weak have come at last to meet their deaths.” Wulf looked over them, a pleased expression on his face as he leaned his pike against his shoulder. “Just as I foretold.”
“Getting real tired of all this prophecy bullshit, Wulf,” Mercer responded, nonchalant as they came to a stop at a safe enough distance for melee combat. While they could see that Wulf carried a rifle, it was the pike he held at the ready.
“It can’t be called prophecy if it’s stating the truth,” the feral grinned, goading. He shifted subtly, head tilting to drop the face guard of his helmet into place, readying for a fight.
Word Count: 742